


The Little Voice

by pinkpeb



Category: Original Work
Genre: Double Penetration, M/M, Rape, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkpeb/pseuds/pinkpeb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson gets abducted by a psychopath who is looking for a new plaything. Giving up is not an option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 05 Nov 2017  
> This story isn't abandoned, but it won't be updated in the foreseeable future. Work is keeping me busy and I don't know when I'll have the time to continue.  
> Many thanks to everyone who read along and left me a sweet comment or kudos.

Jackson was halfway across the parking lot when someone yelled “Hey!”

At first he didn't realize it was directed at him. He kept walking, swinging his little brother’s sports bag back and forth, cell phone pressed to his ear. The sun glistened in the dark puddles the thunderstorm had left on the asphalt and burned hot on his head. On the other end of the line was his best friend Ryan, lamenting the fact that there were only three days of summer break left.

Jackson laughed. “Come on, it’s our last year. And it’s really not that bad.” He moved his shoulders under his hoodie, feeling his damp t-shirt underneath catch at the skin. Gross.

“Of course you say that. You actually like school, you freak,” Ryan said amiably. And yeah, maybe Jackson did like school. He found the atmosphere of lit class soothing, loved the smell of the grass on the soccer field. Sue him. “Gotta admit,” Ryan continued, “if the teachers only loved me a fraction the way they love you, I’d probably like it too. I swear, they think you're a cute little puppy or something.”

“You’re an asshole,” Jackson kindly informed him. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Mr. Hastings hates me.”

“Yeah, but he hates everybody. No need to feel special.”

He dropped the bag next to his car and started digging through his pockets for the keys, then stopped when he noticed a new tiny fleck of rust right underneath the window. He picked at it with his index finger. “Great, one rainy afternoon and my car is turning into a rustbucket. I need a new job. One that pays better than being Dad’s stand-in secretary over the summer does.”

“Just ask your dad for a new car. Like, a real _new_ one. Go for a BMW. It’s not like that’d put a dent in his pocket. He can lease it as a business car.”

“He laughed in my face when I tried that last week. Said I should learn to work hard for the things I want, that’d make me appreciate them more.” And the thing was, he knew his dad was right. He just didn’t like to admit it. He sighed. “I guess a little rust isn’t so bad, huh?” He resumed looking for the keys.

In the background he could hear the muffled voice of Ryan's mother. “Mom wants to know if you're coming over tonight,” Ryan said. “She's making dinner and she says it's going to be terrible. I might need someone to commiserate with.” Ryan's father usually took up dinner duties, but when the mood struck, his mother decided to do some 'experimental cooking', as she liked to call it. The results varied from ‘delicious’ to ‘unfit for human consumption’. Jackson wouldn’t want to miss it. He was about to accept when he heard another yell.

“Hey kid, wait up!”

He turned around and squinted into the sun. A man was jogging towards him across the parking lot, gesticulating with a dirty rag. “Hang on a second, Ryan.” He lowered the phone while he waited for the man to catch up.

The guy was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He had short dark hair, peppered with grey at the temples, a stubbled jaw and green eyes. He was wearing work boots, jeans and a black short sleeved shirt that revealed muscular arms. Coming to a halt in front of Jackson, he was almost a full head taller

“Hey,” the man said for the third time, smiling. “Thanks for waiting. My battery died on me.” He held up his hands with the rag and presented dirt smudged fingers. “Could you help me out with your car?”

“Sure,” Jackson said. “Which one’s yours?” The parking lot was almost empty at this hour, swim training over. Only about half a dozen cars were still strewn randomly across.

“That van over there.” The man pointed towards a dark blue van Jackson hadn’t even noticed until then. It was parked in the shadows beneath a group of trees at the far end of the lot.

He glanced over and nodded. “Ok. Just give me a minute.” He pointedly waggled his phone.

“Great, thanks.” The man grinned and waved the rag as he walked away.

Jackson turned to his car again, his fingers finally getting a grip on the keys. “Ryan, you still there?”

“Yeah. Who was that?”

Jackson tossed his brother's bag into the footwell on the passenger side and slid into the driver's seat. “Just some guy who needs a jump start. I'll give him a hand and then I'll be over.”

“Great. Jessica can’t wait to see you. She’s over the moon that you and Brooke broke up – ow!” There were smacking sounds on the other end of the line and then he heard Ryan’s little sister cussing and calling him a horrible brother and Ryan laughing uncontrollably.

He leaned his head against the headrest. “She’s right, you know. You are horrible.”

“Nah, I’m just teasing her. That’s my job.”

“Whatever. Wanna go down to the lake after dinner? The heat is killing me.” He turned the key in the ignition.

“Sounds good to me. Hold on, did you say someone needed a jump start? Where are you?

“At the swimming hall. Tyler slipped on the tiles during training and sprained his ankle. Dad took him home and they forgot the bag.”

“Of course. Good thing Tyler knows a guy with a helper syndrome to pick his stuff up all the time.” The grin was audible in Ryan’s voice.

“It’s called being an awesome brother. You should try it some time, you anti-social freak.” Jackson parked his car in front of the van's propped open hood. “I've got to go now. I'll be over in about an hour. Got to drop off Tyler’s stuff and take a shower first. I’m soaked. Tell your mom I'm looking forward to dinner.”

“See you then.” Ryan hung up.

Jackson dropped his phone on the passenger seat and pulled the lever for his own hood before he got out. The man was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged out of his hoodie while looking around. “Hello? You there, Mr. –“ he trailed off, realizing he hadn’t asked the guy for a name.

“Back here.” A hand appeared over the roof, waving.

Jackson rounded the front of the van and found the side door slid half open. The man was bent inside, rummaging through a plastic chest. Jackson spotted towing ropes, an orange vest, cable ties and a first aid kit on top. “Sorry, still looking for the jumper cables. I’m Ian, by the way.”

“Jackson,” Jackson said. He pulled his sticky t-shirt a couple of inches away from his skin and leaned against the driver’s door of the van. In the surrounding heat the metal felt almost cool, shielded from the sun by the trees. “If you can’t find your cables I can go back and ask the coach for help. He’s still in,” he offered.

Ian looked at him over his shoulder. “That’s very kind of you, Jackson.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, almost as if he was tasting it. His friendly grin suddenly seemed cold and his eyes moved over Jackson’s body with a calculating look.

Jackson felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rise and a weird, uneasy sensation in his belly. He abruptly realized how lonely this spot under the trees was, far away from the entrance of the swimming hall and shielded from sight by the van. For a split second his instincts screamed at him to turn around and run for the safety of the hall, his car being useless with the popped open hood. He involuntarily took a step backwards. Then Ian looked away and resumed digging through the chest and the moment passed as quick as it had come.

Jackson scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a weak laugh, suddenly feeling stupid. He wasn’t some little kid on a deserted street in the middle of nowhere. This was the swimming hall parking lot, for Christ’s sake, in broad daylight to boot, and some guy just needed a jump start. Jesus. He’d never live it down if he mentioned this to his friends.

“Here we go,” Ian said.

Jackson raised his head and saw him straighten up with the jumper cables. He felt the color rising in his cheeks.

Ian shot him a cautious look. “Everything ok?” he asked.

Jackson forced out an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, fine. The heat’s just getting to me, I think.”

“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” Ian took a step towards him and held out a hand, hovering it just inches from Jackson’s chest, as if he was worried Jackson might keel over any second. He shoved the plastic chest back with his foot and pointed to the floor of the van. “Maybe you should sit down a bit. You want some water?”

Jackson shook his head, feeling his face grow even hotter. “It’s fine, really.” He reached for the cables and turned towards the van’s hood, brushing Ian’s hand off in the process. “Let’s get your car started.”

He hardly managed a step before Ian grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards so hard that he stumbled, his elbow connecting painfully with the van’s door. _What the hell?_ he wanted to say, but Ian pressed a hand over his mouth, letting only a muffled noise escape, and crowded him against the van’s side, holding him there with his weight. Panic flared up in his belly and he tried to kick out, succeeding only in banging his knee against the van.

“Easy, kid.” Ian leaned in even closer, chest flush against his back.

Jackson felt warm breath ghost across his ear. He twisted sideways and jerked his elbow back, but met nothing but air.

Ian chuckled. “Calm down. You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

Then Jackson felt a painful sting in his neck, followed by a sharp burn, and seconds later the grip on him loosened. He tried to turn around and found himself staggering. He put out a hand to stabilize himself, but it was no use. The world seemed to move at a much faster pace than he did and he slid to his knees and slumped dizzily against the van while black clouds edged out his vision.


	2. Chapter 2

He came to to the sound of a car engine and the faint smell of plastic. His head and shoulders hurt and he groaned weakly. A wave of nausea washed over him when he tried to open his eyes and he hurriedly closed them again, hoping to go back to sleep. The nausea passed quick enough, but the ache in his head and shoulders kept him conscious. He was lying on his side, face mashed against a hard surface. Groaning again, he shifted around to find a more comfortable position and tried to reach for his pillow, but his arms were caught behind his back.

Sluggishly he flopped around a bit before stilling to find his bearings. He knew that something was terribly wrong, but his foggy brain couldn’t figure out what. It was dark, that much he’d seen, so it had to be night. Except that he didn’t remember going to bed. He didn’t even remember getting home. The last thing he did remember was picking up Tyler’s bag at the swimming hall and helping some guy jump start his car. Then the wrongness of the situation hit him with full force and he sucked in a hasty breath. _No. Oh God, please, no._

Heart beating frantically in his chest and throat, he opened his eyes again, ignoring the new wash of nausea and hoping against hope that he’d find himself in his own bed after all, that it had all been just a very vivid nightmare. But the near darkness that greeted him was not that of his bedroom. It was the very dimly lit inside of a van. He blinked a couple of times while his eyes adjusted, willing himself to wake up, _really_ wake up this time, but his surroundings didn’t change.

He was lying on a robust plastic tarp. His arms were trapped behind his back at the wrists. He tried to move them, first tentatively, then vigorously, but found no give. Instead, the hard material of whatever was holding his wrists together cut into his skin. He remembered the cable ties he’d seen in the chest. No way was he getting out of those. Stilling, he let his gaze wander. Across from him, next to the sliding door, he recognized the outline of the chest. In front of it he could make out a familiar shape – Tyler’s bag. Obviously jump start guy – _Ian_ – had searched his car and deemed the bag valuable enough to take along.

He craned his head towards the front of the van and caught a glimpse of Ian’s silhouette in the driver’s seat. Ian had his head cocked to the side, as if listening into the back. Jackson froze, though it was obviously too late. Ian had heard him wake up, that much was clear. “You with us again, Jackson?” Ian asked a second later, as if to confirm his thoughts. He sounded amused.  

Jackson swallowed, throat dry, when the words sunk in. _You with us again? Us?_ He strained his neck to get a look at the passenger seat and found it empty. He whipped his head around, convinced he’d find himself face to face with another stranger, but there was no one looming over him. He breathed out heavily through his nose and said “Fuck you,” but with way less conviction than he’d have liked. He was furious, but the fear was stronger.

Up front, Ian laughed, undisturbed. “Got a potty mouth, huh?”

Jackson struggled into a sitting position and quickly scanned the rest of the van. Aside the chest was another bag. Farther back he could make out the back doors – and a figure sitting on the ground. He let out a yelp and jumped, yanking on his bound wrists. _Oh shit._ There really was another one. Then the person made a muffled sound and kicked weakly at the floor and Jackson realized that it was just a boy and that he, too, was tied up. He felt a weird sense of relief at not being alone.

He pulled his knees up and shoved himself over the floor towards the boy. Coming closer, he recognized him as Casey Evans from Tyler’s swim class. He’d been over to their house a couple of times. A strip of duct tape was covering his mouth and he stared at Jackson with desperate eyes. Jackson leaned against the wall next to him, thoughts racing. If Casey was here, this wasn’t a ransom kidnapping. His dad was well off and could pay a hefty sum for Jackson’s return, but Casey’s parents weren’t wealthy. He remembered Ian’s weird look back in the parking lot, the way his eyes had roamed over his body, and he felt a knot form in his belly. _No._ They had to get out of here. He licked his dry lips. “Will you let us go? Please?“

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” But Ian didn’t sound sorry at all.

“We won’t tell anyone, I swear. Right?” Jackson shot Casey a sideways glance and got a vehement, if muffled agreement.

“Right,” Ian scoffed.

“My dad owns a company. He’ll reward you well if you take us back. We’ll tell him whatever you want. Honest.” He waited anxiously for Ian’s answer. When Ian didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, he felt a surge of hope. Then the van slowed down and Ian turned halfway in his seat.

“Let me make this very clear, Jackson – you two are not going anywhere. Now be a good kid and shut up, or I’ll shut your mouth for you. Just ask your friend over there.” He chucked something into the back. It bounced on the floor and rolled to a halt against Jackson’s leg. It was a roll of duct tape.

Jackson pressed his lips together. The thought of having his mouth taped shut sent his stomach rolling again.

“Good.” Ian turned his head back up front and the van picked up speed again.

Jackson let his gaze wander through the van once more, searching for something sharp to cut his wrists free. By now his family had to know that he was missing. He’d skipped out on bringing back Tyler’s stuff and dinner with Ryan, things he’d never done before. He was very reliable and everybody knew that. His dad had probably already alerted the police and they were looking for him. Missing kids always were a high priority. Then he realized with a stab of panic that he wasn’t a missing child. Not anymore. As of last week, he was legally an adult and allowed to take off without notifying anyone. The police probably wouldn’t look for him tonight. They would be searching for Casey, though. He was a minor. They might make a connection between their disappearances, but unless someone had taken notice of a strange van at the swimming hall, they wouldn’t know where to start looking. His eyes fell on Tyler’s bag. If Ian hadn’t searched it yet, Tyler’s phone was still in there and if he could get a hold of it, he could call 911. Surely they’d be able to track them down fast.    

He glanced towards the front, then slowly rose onto his knees and started inching over the floor towards the chest. Casey made a sound of protest at his departure and Jackson gave him a reassuring look before moving on. Next to the bag he slumped down again and searched for the zipper, then turned around and tried to catch it with his bound hands. It took him a few tries until his fingers got a secure grip. The sound of the zipper was loud in the otherwise silent car, almost overriding the noise of the engine, and he felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. He chanced a glance at Ian. _Don’t look back, please._

Ian didn’t look, but his head was cocked to the side again. He was obviously listening and trying to figure out what was going on. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, sounding irritated.

Jackson froze, fingers clutching the zipper tight. “N-nothing. Just - just trying to find a comfy spot.” When Ian didn’t say anything else, he slowly opened the zipper another inch, grimacing at the noise. Then his hands were inside the bag and he felt around frantically between the balled up wet towels. His fingers grazed a set of keys and a bottle, but no phone. After a couple more seconds, the van slowed down again and Ian took a look over his shoulder, taking in the scene. Jackson stared back at him, pulse beating rapidly in his throat. Then Ian stepped on the brakes and the van lurched to an abrupt stop.

Jackson tumbled forward onto his face and lost his grasp on the bag. Before he could straighten up again, Ian was on top of him, pinning him down with a knee to the back and searching his hands. When he came up empty, he went for the bag, still keeping Jackson on the ground with his weight.

“What were you looking for, huh?” He accentuated the question by leaning on his knee.

Jackson felt his chest constrict. The air left his lungs with a whistle. He gasped, trying to breathe in again but barely succeeding. “Please,” he managed to squeeze out. “I can’t breathe.”

Above him, Ian hummed while rummaging around in the bag. “I know.” He dropped a towel next to Jackson’s head. The bottle followed, then another towel. “Now, I’m asking you again. What were you looking for?” He dropped the keys onto the growing pile of Tyler’s stuff.

With the bag securely in Ian’s hands and not enough air to hold out any longer, it made no sense to keep silent. “Phone,” he rasped. He was starting to feel little lightheaded. His lungs hurt, screeching for air, and black spots started to dance in front of his eyes. He desperately kicked his legs and shook his head from side to side in a last effort to get some air. A moment later, a second that felt like an eternity, the pressure on his back eased up and he gulped in a mouthful of air, then started coughing into the floor.

Ian grabbed his arm and roughly shoved him onto his side. “Don’t fret, it’ll pass.” He reached into the bag again and produced a pair of wet swim trunks, Tyler’s library card and then, from the very bottom of the bag, Tyler’s phone. “Fuck,” he said, “you have another phone.”  

Jackson, still panting, stared at the phone longingly. If only it had been a little further up, he might have gotten it and help would be on the way.

Ian turned it over in his hands, removed the back cover and pulled out the SIM card. He held it in front of Jackson’s face and broke it with a snap of his fingers. Then he set the heel of his boot onto the phone and crashed it. Jackson felt tears of frustration and hopelessness tickle at the back of his eyes and he fought them back. _Not now._ He raised his eyes from the shards of the phone to Ian, who was studying the library card.

“Since there’s no way you’re fourteen, I assume you’re not Tyler M. Roberts and this isn’t your stuff. Is it, _Jackson_?”

Jackson shook his head. “It’s my little brother’s.”

“I thought it was yours, otherwise I wouldn’t have taken it along. I frisked you and left your phone in your car. Figured I’d be safe. See, even after all these times I still learn something new.”

 _After all these times?_ How many kids had Ian already taken? And what had he done with them? Jackson suppressed a shiver and shoved the thought aside with determination. He really didn’t want to know.

“Okay then.” Ian looked at his watch. “We have to get going. Our friend back there,” he pointed to Casey, “has an appointment in twenty minutes and we still got a few miles ahead of us. We were already running late because of you anyway.” He stuffed everything back into the bag and threw it onto the passenger seat. Then he picked up the roll of duct tape and moved towards Jackson.

Jackson shook his head. The thought of having an airway cut off shortly after his experience with near suffocation made him queasy. “Please don’t. I’ll be quiet.”

Ian hesitated. “Feel like throwing up?”

He didn’t, not anymore, but he nodded anyway. 

Ian studied him sharply. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I really don’t want you choking to death on your own vomit, so I’ll let it go. Sit up.” He pulled Jackson up by the arm, then wrapped the duct tape first around his knees, then around his ankles. “We don’t want you getting any other stupid ideas, do we?” He tossed the duct tape into the chest and started the van again.

Jackson studied his wrapped legs. There was no way he’d get away like this. Hell, he’d be lucky if he managed to make a break with all his limbs free. He leaned his head against the wall and allowed the tears he’d been holding back to fall. Across from him he could hear Casey crying and pulling up his tear clogged nose. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. The answer was a soft sob.


	3. Chapter 3

To stop himself from thinking too much, he focused on the drive. They moved along speedily on a smooth surface, probably blacktop. Then the van slowed down and turned left. He could hear gravel crunch underneath the wheels. Shortly after they stopped.

Ian turned off the engine and got out. Muffled voices carried in from the outside, but he couldn’t make out any words. There were steps on the gravel and then the back door opened and revealed Ian and another man. The guy was about Ian’s height, but older. He was wearing a dark wool cardigan. Despite a small pot belly, he seemed muscled and fit.

“There’s your package,” Ian said, motioning inside with his head.

The guy breathed out a puff of smoke as he peered into the van. “Fuck, why didn’t anyone tell me it’s two this time? I’d have brought another car. I can barely fit one into my trunk.” He took a pull on his cigarette. “That’s gonna be one cozy trip for you kids.”

Ian shook his head. “It’s just that one.” He pointed to Casey. “The other one stays with me.”

Jackson exchanged a frightened look with Casey. They were going to be separated?

The man flicked some ash from the tip of his cigarette. His face brightened considerably at the information. “Good, cause I’d be worried they’d smother each other in there together. He another order?”

“No, he’s private business.” Ian said.

“Private, eh?” The man seized Jackson’s foot and pulled him closer. Jackson tried to resist, but with his hands and feet bound there wasn’t much he could do. The man leveled a flashlight at his face. “Sweet kid,” he said. “You going to auction him off? Cause I might have a customer for you.” Jackson flinched at the words. _Auction him off?_

“I was going to, but now I think I’ll keep him for myself. It’s been a while since I had a guest and we’ve grown to like each other on our little trip. Right, Jackson?” Ian reached out and ran a hand softly through his hair. Jackson jerked his head away. “He’s still a little recalcitrant, but we’ll get there.”

“Too bad. My customer would have liked him. He’s into freckles.” The man dumped the cigarette onto the ground, grabbed Casey by the arms and threw him over his shoulder in one swift motion. Casey kicked his feet and grunted in protest behind the duct tape. “We’ll be on our way then.” The guy made a farewell motion with his hand and rounded the corner of the van.

Jackson heard his boots on the gravel. A few seconds later there was the sound of a body hitting a hard surface and a muffled cry from Casey. Jackson winced in sympathy. The trunk slammed shut and shortly after a door, followed by a revving engine. Then they were gone.

Jackson listened to the car disappearing into the distance. He cleared his throat, not sure he even wanted to ask or know the answer, but plowing on anyway. “Where is he taking him?”

Ian gave him an amused look. “Does it matter?” He studied Jackson with a curious expression on his face. “You really care, don’t you? He’s going to New York. Some hot shot politician saw him at the Junior Swimming Championships in June and ordered him. You won’t see him again.”

Jackson felt goosebumps rise on his skin, wishing fervently he’d never asked. These people specialized in human trafficking, delivering kids on orders like packages from online stores. They knew what they were doing. His chances of getting away seemed to dwindle by the second. What was going to happen to Casey? And what was going to happen to him? Not even an hour ago he’d nearly been suffocated for not promptly answering a question. 

He glanced at Ian. “So – where did you see me?” He had to know, even if he couldn’t change anything about it now.

“You? You were a very lucky coincidence.” Ian smiled broadly. “I had just stowed away our little friend and was about to leave when you drove up and strolled across the parking lot. I figured I was going to grab and sell you. There are a lot of customers for boys like you, you know. Easy money.” He leaned closer. “Then I talked to you and watched you fiddle with your shirt. You were so carefree and cute, I just had to have you for myself.” He huffed. “Nearly blew it all when I stared too much, didn’t I? You were this close,” he held up his hand, thumb and index finger half an inch apart, “to hauling ass, right? Your instincts are good. That’ll help you settle in with me.” He caressed Jackson’s cheek with his thumb.  

Jackson didn’t move. He stared at his bound ankles while battling a sudden rush of self-hate. Fuck his stupid instincts. He’d felt that something was off about Ian but he hadn’t acted on that feeling. If only he had run instead of standing there like a giant idiot, then he’d be safe at home now. He’d probably feel like a fool, ignorant of the fate he’d closely escaped, but better safe than sorry. Maybe even Casey would have had a chance if he’d made a run for it. Maybe –

“Anyway,” Ian said, cutting into his thoughts, “we still have a few hours to go till we’re home and I’m not planning on making any bathroom stops. At least not for you. The sun’s going to rise soon and I can’t walk you around in broad daylight. I don’t want you pissing in my car, so you need to go now.” He grabbed Jackson’s foot and maneuvered him into a sitting position at the edge of the back doors.

Jackson didn’t need to go at all, but he nodded anyway, not wanting to piss Ian off again. Cold night air hit his skin when he was pulled outside and set onto his feet. He swayed a little, not used to standing with bound knees and ankles. Ian steadied him, then moved behind him and put his arms around him, hands going straight to the front of his pants and fiddling with the zipper.

Jackson tensed in the embrace. “What – what are you doing?”

“Helping you take a leak.” Ian pulled the zipper down.

Jackson felt a lump in his throat. _Hell no._ “Stop it!” He tried to back away from Ian’s hands but only managed to fall into Ian, his own bound hands grazing Ian’s front side and the bulge in his pants.

Ian chuckled and tightened his hold. “You can’t wait, huh?” He leaned closer. “Well, neither can I.“ And with that, he bit into Jackson’s neck. It was a soft bite, more a nibble, warm tongue moving over his flesh and tasting him, stubble scratching over his skin. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. This wasn’t happening. Against his trapped fingers, he felt the bulge in Ian’s pants growing. _Oh God._ He jerked his head to the side in a swift motion, dislodging Ian’s mouth.

Ian laughed. “We’ll have to work on your behavior.” He bit down again and popped the button on Jackson’s pants.

“No!” Jackson twisted inefficiently in his grip and then threw his whole body forward as a last resort. For a couple of seconds, nothing happened and he gritted his teeth in frustration. Then Ian deliberately opened his arms and he dropped to the ground like a stone with no way to cushion the fall. He came down sideways, shoulder smacking into the gravel, head tipping down shortly. Hot pain shot down to his elbow, but ebbed away in a matter of seconds. Groaning, he shook his head and looked up at Ian.

Ian’s face was unreadable in the dark. Jackson held his breath, waiting for him to move, bracing himself for whatever was about to come. Then Ian bent down, pushed him over onto his back and settled onto his hips. His bound hands pressed into the rugged gravel underneath him, instantly begging for release but he paid them no notice, because Ian curled over him and kissed him. His tongue probed along Jackson’s mouth, demanding entry. Jackson pressed his lips together and tried to turn his head away, but Ian’s hands were on either side and kept him centered. He felt Ian’s thumbs dig into his jaw, knowledgeable where to press to cause discomfort. He resisted for a couple more seconds until the discomfort turned into pain, then he reluctantly opened his mouth.

Ian’s tongue slipped inside instantly, moving over his teeth and plunging deeper. He stared up into Ian’s face as his mouth was violated, breathing heavily through his nose. On his belly he could feel the hard outline of Ian’s cock pressing through the fabric. He tried to block Ian out by closing his eyes, but that made the kiss feel even more intimate, so he hastily opened them again. Ian’s tongue caressed the roof of his mouth, almost tickling him, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He bit down hard.

Ian pulled back immediately. He sat up, cursing, and brought a hand to his mouth to examine his tongue. Jackson watched him, wishing he’d bitten down even harder. Then Ian, tongue apparently intact, looked down at him. “You little shit,” he said, a cold smile playing around his lips. Jackson didn’t like the expression in his eyes at all. He swallowed, suddenly and absurdly wanting to apologize, but he got no chance. Ian drew his arm back and hit him in the face.

His head bounced to the side and he tasted blood even before the pain set in. His left cheek felt like it was exploding. He barely suppressed a cry. Tears shot into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. When he could see again, Ian’s face came into view, expression still grim. He reached out and Jackson cringed, expecting another blow. Instead, Ian grabbed his jaw and forced his head upwards, looking him straight in the eyes. “You bite me again and I’ll break your jaw,” he said matter-of-factly and pressed his fingers into Jackson’s throbbing cheek. “I suggest you don’t test me.” Jackson had no trouble believing him. He shook his head, ignoring the pain the movement caused. “Good.” Ian released his face and bent over him again.

His tongue pushed against Jackson’s lips and this time Jackson let him in immediately, determined to ride this out. It was just a kiss. He could take it. If he played along now, maybe Ian would get careless and let him out of the van at a rest stop after all. His cheek hurt when Ian’s tongue explored it, inside split open from the hit, and he winced, careful to keep his teeth in check. Ian pulled back anyway. “You taste like blood,” he said, as if it was Jackson’s fault. “Let’s get going. There’ll be enough time to make out once we’re home.”

_Home? Never._ But he forced his face into a neutral expression and didn’t struggle when Ian pulled him onto his feet. His arms and hands felt numb after being pressed into the gravel for this long. Jackson wriggled his fingers, welcoming the stinging sensation of the returning blood flow.

He managed not to resist when Ian’s hands went to his pants again, but couldn’t hide a flinch. _Be obedient._ But to his surprise, Ian didn’t pull them down. Instead he buttoned and zipped them back up. “Since you’ve chosen to meet my kindness with nasty behavior, I have decided not to waste any more time with niceties.” He grabbed Jackson by one arm, spun him around and gave him a shove that sent him tumbling into the van. Jackson hit his knee on the way in and landed face down. Ian climbed in with him and slammed the doors shut before picking up the roll of duct tape again.

Jackson shook his head but this time Ian paid him no notice. He ripped off a piece of tape and placed it over Jackson’s mouth. Then he looked down at Jackson, seemingly content with the situation. “I really hope you didn’t have to go, because it’ll be a while before we get home. Don’t piss in my car. I don’t like the smell and I assure you, you won’t like lying around in soiled pants either.” He patted Jackson on the head and got into the front seat. Seconds later the engine came to life and they slowly rolled along the gravel until they hit the pavement again, then accelerated.

Jackson rolled over onto his back, trying to find a comfortable position and failing miserably. In the end he settled for lying halfway on his belly to relieve the strain on his sore wrists. His dry throat longed for some water. So much for playing along and getting Ian’s trust. He recognized then how naive this idea had been in the first place. By his own admission, Ian had been in this business for a while. He’d probably seen tons of kids trying to play him to get away and he knew how to not get caught. He wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust Jackson. At least not this soon.

He’d have to play nice for a long time before Ian would even consider throwing him a breadcrumb of trust. And not just play nice, but readily go along with everything Ian planned to do with him. After their session in the gravel he could only too well imagine what was going to happen once they got _home_ , and he dreaded it. He’d had his suspicions ever since he’d found out this wasn’t a ransom kidnapping and the last minutes had cruelly confirmed them. The ghost of Ian’s stubble on his neck and his tongue in his mouth sent shivers along his body. With a sinking feeling, he realized that there’d be no trust winning in the near future. Despite his best intentions, he wouldn’t be able to pretend.


	4. Chapter 4

Jackson spent the next miles on his side, neck craned towards the front, and tried to get a look out of the windshield. He was hoping to catch some street lamps or signs, anything to get a sense of where they were, but the night sky merely revealed a few tree tops and branches every now and then. Other cars passed them only sporadically, which made him conclude that they were on some back road. Ian obviously avoided the highways, if there even existed any on their way. _Home_ could be anywhere, from a big city to a remote cabin in the woods.

His neck started to cramp in the awkward position and he rolled onto his belly and allowed himself a moment of rest. The tears came uninvited, but he let them fall until the crying clogged up his nose and made breathing difficult. Then he forced himself to stop and assess the situation once more. Aside from flopping around like a fish, he couldn’t do anything, not even scream. He tried to break the cable ties around his wrists again, knowing full well that it was a lost cause, but once he started to pull he couldn’t seem to stop. The ties cut into his skin and slipped around on his bloody wrists but, just as expected, didn’t yield. He managed to work himself into a sweat until he finally gave up, disappointed and exhausted.

His throat was even drier now and his head started to hurt from the lack of water. He chanced a look up front. The night sky had given way to an orange dawn. Ian hummed and moved his head to an imaginary beat while he drove. He sounded approachable enough and Jackson decided to ask him for water. He made a muffled noise behind his tape.

Ian turned his head immediately. “No bathroom breaks, remember?”

Jackson shook his head and moaned twice.

Ian looked him over. “Do you need something or are you just protesting?”

Jackson moaned once more, hoping it didn’t sound like mere protest.

“Alright. Let me just find a spot to stop.”

But he seemed to be in no hurry to find that spot, as he drove on humming for what felt like hours. By the time the van finally stopped, the sky was a bright blue and rays of sunshine found their way through the windshield. Jackson’s head was close to exploding. He peered up at Ian through scrunched eyes when the duct tape was removed from his mouth.

“So?” Ian asked, eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

Jackson unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth with difficulty. “Can I have some water, please?”

“Thirsty, huh? I guess it’s been a while since you had a drink.” Ian balled up the strip of tape and chucked it into the front. “Think you deserve water after the shit you pulled?”

Jackson stared at him in disbelief. Did he deserve water? Ian looked at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer. He was at a loss what to say. “I –“ he started and trailed off aimlessly. The pounding in his temples made it hard to think.

Ian reached into the plastic chest and produced a bottle of water which he set onto the floor in front of Jackson. “Go on, convince me,” he said.

Jackson fixated the bottle with his eyes, begging it to come closer. “I’m sorry?” he tried.

Ian sat back on his heels. “Is that a question?” 

Jackson felt desperation rise up through his chest and lodge in his throat. He rested his forehead on the floor and tried to concentrate, wishing he knew what Ian wanted to hear. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a bad headache. I – I won’t do it again, I swear.”

Ian laughed. “Oh, you will, I have no doubts about that. You’re a sneaky little bitch. But don’t worry, I like that. Never knowing what to expect – it adds a certain level of entertainment and surprise into our interactions. We’re going to have a lot of fun once we get home.”

Jackson closed his eyes. _Please, no._

“Look at me,” Ian ordered. When Jackson complied, he leaned forward. “I’m going to give you a little help. Now, do you think you deserve water after what you did?”

Jackson blinked and rolled the words around in his head, tried to think like Ian would. “No?” he asked.

Ian smiled. “I’ll let that pass, even though you clearly have no idea. Now tell me why I should water you anyway.” He tapped the bottle with his index finger.

Completely clueless what Ian was going for, Jackson replied with the first random thought that crossed his mind. “Because you like me.” To his own surprise, it wasn’t a question this time. Somehow he was pretty sure that Ian did like him, in his own twisted way.

Ian snapped his fingers and let out a delighted chuckle. “I knew you were a bright kid. Come on, sit up.” He grabbed Jackson by the arms and maneuvered him into a sitting position. Then he tipped the bottle up to Jackson’s mouth and let him have a few gulps. “Slow down or you’re going to throw it up again,” he instructed.

Jackson obediently took a couple of slower sips, savoring the feeling of the cold water running down his throat. Then he closed his eyes and waited for the headache to subside. The pounding slowed down a bit, but didn’t go away.

“Want some Advil for that headache?” Ian asked and reached into his pocket when Jackson nodded. “There you go.” He popped the pills into Jackson’s mouth and watched him wash them down with a fascinated expression on his face.

Jackson didn’t much like it. It was too close to the face he’d made during their make out session. He pulled away as soon as the bottle was empty. “Thank you,” he said uneasy, hoping to shake Ian out of it.

Instead of an answer, Ian leaned closer and studied his face. “I really like your lips, you know,” he said. He reached out and traced them with his index finger. Then he bent forward and licked into Jackson’s mouth.

Jackson forced himself to hold still. He let his jaw relax, let Ian take over his mouth. Ian’s stubble scratched over his chin. This was nothing. He’d been there before, he could do it again. 

When Ian pulled back his mouth was curved into a smile. “I can’t wait to see your lips stretched around my cock. You’ll look gorgeous.”

Jackson physically recoiled at that statement. He lost his balance and hit his head on the edge of the plastic chest. _No, oh hell no._

“Don’t think you’ll get out of it.” Ian pulled him up again and started to rub his temples in soothing circles while looking him in the eyes. “It’s fun. You’ll learn.”   

Jackson silently looked back. He could see nothing fun about the prospect of sucking Ian’s cock, but he didn’t dare to object. Not right now when Ian seemed to be in a well-meaning and pleasant mood. And as much as he hated to admit it, Ian’s massaging fingers on his throbbing head felt nice. After just a couple of seconds he had to fight to keep his eyes open.

As if reading his thoughts, Ian asked “Feels good, doesn’t it?” He pulled his hands away and sat back. “Are you hungry?”

Jackson shook his head. He probably should be hungry. Yesterday’s lunch was a long time ago and he could barely remember what he’d eaten. But it didn’t seem important. The adrenaline had worn off and exhaustion was catching up rapidly. He suddenly felt cold all over; a shiver ran through his body. With the exception of his drug induced nap, he’d been awake since yesterday morning. Right now the only thing he could focus on was sleep. Just falling asleep and waking up somewhere else. _Please._

“Alright then. I’ll let you get a rest.” Ian rose to his feet and looked down on him observingly. “You’re shaking,” he said. “Want a blanket?” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a flannel blanket out of the chest and draped it over Jackson. “Now what do you say?”

Jackson blinked. “I – thank you?”

“There’s a good boy.” Ian petted him on the head. “I’ll wake you up when we’re home.”

Jackson couldn’t muster up the energy to bristle at the condescending treatment. He settled into a vaguely comfortable position halfway on his belly and rested his head on the edge of the blanket. The fabric was soft and warm on his skin. Slowly, he felt the tremors subside. When the van started to pick up speed again, he closed his eyes. There was no getting around going _home_. He might as well spend the rest of the way unconscious instead of working himself up about the things that were to come once they arrived. Despite that sensible revelation and his weariness it took him awhile to fall into an uneven slumber.

He woke with a start at the sound of a repeatedly honked car horn. It only took him a couple of seconds to find his bearings. Still in the van under the blanket, still unable to move. His headache was gone. The van was parked, the front seat empty. From outside he could hear angry voices. “You fucking idiot, are you blind?” someone shouted close by and farther away somebody else answered with “I was here first, it’s my pump!” Gas station, Jackson figured. None of the voices belonged to Ian. He was either inside the station or outside at the pump, probably enjoying the spectacle, but it didn’t really matter. The only thing that did matter was that he wasn’t inside the van and Jackson’s mouth was free.

“Help!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Help! I’ve been abducted! Call 911!” He held in and listened. The voices outside were still arguing, but much farther away now. He could only make out muffled sounds, no words. _Shit._ “Help!” he screamed again. There was no reaction from outside. Nobody came running and threw the doors open to rescue him. Jackson felt cold sweat break out under his arms. This was a nightmare. These people were so close yet unable to reach. It was not fair. He felt fresh tears of frustration creep up on him and pushed them back furiously. Not now. Now he needed to keep yelling his head off. Maybe someone would move closer to the van and hear him after all. He opened his mouth again and resumed screaming.

A few moments later the front door opened and then Ian was on top of him and pressed a hand over his mouth. “Shut up!” he hissed. Jackson tried to shake his head free but Ian had a death grip on him. He wasn’t even gaining an inch of freedom. He couldn’t give up though, not with the driver’s door still open. If he managed to scream now, everybody would hear him. He kicked his bound legs against the side of the van and tried to hurl his upper body forward to throw Ian off balance. It didn’t work but the grip on him loosened slightly. A finger slipped into his mouth. He was about to bite down hard when he remembered Ian’s threat to break his jaw and hesitated. The tiny indecision cost him his freedom. Ian secured his grip and seconds later he felt the edge of Ian’s forearm press against his throat. He panicked, expecting to be throttled, but there was hardly any pressure on his airways. In a matter of seconds, everything turned black.

When he came to again, his mouth was securely duct taped and the van was moving. He groaned in defeat.

Up front, Ian exhaled. “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t give you brain damage. That’d be such a waste.” He turned his head and locked eyes with Jackson. “Eh, you look fine. Choked you quite thorough though. My captain would have been proud.”

Brain damage? Jackson swallowed. How long had he been out?

“And just when I thought we were getting along, you go and ruin it all. Now I’ll have to punish you when we get home. Or maybe I won’t, since you at least refrained from biting again. What do you think?”

Jackson felt his heart stutter. He shook his head.

“No? We’ll see which way the mood strikes. It won’t be much longer. We’re almost there.” He turned back front and started drumming his imaginary beat on the steering wheel again.

Jackson watched him for a while, uneasy and rattled, before he settled down again. He’d missed his chance and he’d pay for it. How, he had no idea and he chose not to think about it. Instead, he decided to focus on the drive and memorize the way. In case _home_ turned out to be a cabin in the woods, he wanted to make sure he knew which direction to run if he ever got away. No, not if ever. _When._ When he got away.

The street was smooth beneath them and they were going fast. No woods so far. They took a couple of sharp turns left and went downhill, then slowed down and took a right turn. Through the windshield, he caught the edge of a rooftop.

Ian turned off the engine. “We’re home, kid. Excited?”

No, he wasn’t. In fact, he couldn’t remember another moment in his life that had filled him with so little excitement and so much dread.


	5. Chapter 5

Ian pushed the van’s back doors open and cut the duct tape off his knees and ankles. Then he took off Jackson’s shoes and socks and smiled. “Let’s go,” he said before he pulled Jackson outside and set him onto his feet.

The rough pavement was cold underneath his bare toes. His legs, cramped from being bound for hours, felt weak. Fresh air hit him into the face and he took a deep breath and looked around. They were standing in the driveway of a nice white house with a red roof, situated on a hillside. The big porch was populated by about a dozen potted plants and a wooden swing. It was surrounded by bushes that went around the back of the house and up the hill, where they turned into a wooded area leading away from the house. Farther down the hill was a large lake. The sun glinted on its smooth waves. The property had its own landing bridge with a boat shed at the end. Everything seemed well groomed and _normal_. Way too normal for a guy who drove around and kidnapped kids for a living.  

Far away, on the other end of the lake, was a cluster of houses, probably a small town, but there were no buildings in the near vicinity of the premises, only patches of wood. The next lonely house he caught sight of was a couple of miles away around the lake. No neighbors to call the police.

His knees buckled at the realization and he let himself sink onto the ground. His knuckles scraped over the pavement behind his back but he barely felt it. Really, he should have expected this when Ian hauled him out of the van in broad daylight, but somehow he’d hoped against hope that help would be near by.

A fresh breeze washed over him and he shivered. Goosebumps rose on his skin. Despite the sunshine, the air was cool, the temperature way lower than at home. He had no clue where they were, but Redding was definitely far behind them. Aside from the short stop to drop Casey off, they’d driven all night and at least half the next day. Granted, Ian had avoided the highways, but they still had to have gotten pretty far. He was willing to bet that they weren’t in California anymore. Which made him that much harder to find. Even if the police were already searching for him – _which, please, please let them be; please let Dad have raised hell at the station_ – they wouldn’t have an inkling where to start looking. He dropped his head onto his knees.

Above him, Ian exhaled loudly. “Lovely, isn’t it? The property’s been in the family for over a century. Two point five square miles of ground and a share of the lake. And the best part?” He squatted down, loosely draped an arm around Jackson’s shoulders and forced his head up to peel the tape off his mouth. “No one’s going to disturb us. And no one’s going to hear you.”

Jackson had feared as much. He wrenched his body away from Ian and tried to scramble onto his feet, but his legs failed him.

Ian snorted. “Are you trying to make a run for it? You won’t get very far without your shoes. The hillside’s full of thorns and the premises are fenced in. You’d never get out with your hands tied. I’d totally let you try anyway, just for the fun of it, but I’m getting a little impatient. I’m sure you know the feeling. You buy a new toy at the store and you just can’t wait to get home and play with it. I think I’ve waited long enough.” He pulled Jackson up and hoisted him over his shoulder before making for the house.

“I’m not a toy!” Despite his protest he was painfully aware that to Ian, he was indeed a toy and the game had started long ago – in the parking lot of the swimming hall, when Ian had approached him with a friendly smile and dirty fingers and played him like a fiddle. Now they were just entering the next level. “Put me down!” Jackson kicked out, but his naked toes were no match for Ian’s muscled frame. “Fuck you!”

Ian caught his foot. “Again with the swearing? I see your nap has done you good.” He stepped into the house and pushed the front door closed with his heel.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson caught sight of a brown leather sofa. The sofa disappeared from his view when Ian turned around and headed up a staircase. From his position upside down, he stared at the dark gray carpet on the wooden stairs and wondered if he’d ever go downstairs again. The front door, mere steps away, suddenly seemed beyond reach. Ian climbed up the last step, turned left and walked down a gallery. His shoulder dug painfully into Jackson’s belly. They passed the first door. The next one, Ian pushed open.

Jackson renewed his struggles as they stepped through the frame. “Let me go!” he demanded. Instead of responding, Ian closed the door. Then he turned around and unceremoniously dumped him onto the wooden floor. Jackson dropped hard onto his bound hands. The sudden pain made him yelp.

Ian crouched down next to him. “Oops,” he said. His eyes had a mean gleam in them as he reached out.

Jackson tried to back away, but Ian had a firm grip on his shoulders before he managed an inch. He braced himself, expecting to be hit. Instead, Ian hauled him up and shoved him backwards. He landed ass first on a soft surface – the bed. The movement jostled his hands and pain flared up in his wrists again, shooting into his fingers. He suppressed another cry and rolled onto his side to take the pressure off. “I think you broke my wrists,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“I sure hope I didn’t,” Ian said. “That’d make things a little too complicated for my liking.” He shoved Jackson over onto his belly and examined his wrists, pushing experimentally against the bones with strong hands. It still hurt, but the pain was less intense. “Nah, they’re fine. Just completely fucked up from your stupid struggling. Should have kept still instead of crawling around all the time.” Ian pulled at the cable ties and Jackson felt cold steel press against his skin. He bit his bottom lip. A few moments later the sharp pain lessened and his arms fell loosely to his sides. Free.

The freedom was weirdly unfamiliar after being restrained for so long. He moved his hands tentatively and tried to pull them up to take a look. His frozen shoulders protested the movement, but he managed on the second attempt. His wrists were bruised and bloody, the skin torn off where the ties had cut into them. Fucked up indeed.

He felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck and got acutely aware of his position – lying prone on the bed, ass up in the air. He could feel Ian’s eyes roam over his body and rolled over hastily, nearly falling off the bed in the process.

Ian was standing over him, studying him with a hungry expression on his face. His right hand was playing with a switchblade knife. His smile was razor sharp.

Jackson felt his pulse beat rapidly in his throat. He drew his legs underneath himself and shuffled up the bed on his back, unable to take his eyes off the knife, fearing that Ian would strike any second. The headboard stopped him dead. He pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to swallow, but his throat closed up on him. Ian flicked his thumb over the cutting edge of the knife and took a step towards the bed. Jackson flinched violently, hitting his head on the headboard. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe beg, but words failed him.

Ian ran his thumb over the edge again. “Scared?” he asked. His voice was low and husky. Jackson didn’t dare to move. His heart drummed frantically against his ribcage. Ian stared at him silently for a while, making him break out in cold sweat. Then he started to laugh and snapped the knife shut with a flick of his wrist. “Don’t worry, I won’t cut you. At least not today.” He moved around the bed and disappeared through a door next to the headboard. Seconds later a shower was turned on.

Jackson clutched his knees and gulped in a mouthful of air. _Not today._ He felt dizzy. To calm himself down, he rested his forehead on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. _Not today,_ he repeated.

Once his pulse had slowed down a bit, he raised his head to take a look around the room and realized, really realized that he was alone. Ian had gone into what had to be the bathroom to take a shower. He was alone and the door they’d come in through was unguarded. He looked over his shoulder. The doorframe to the bathroom was empty, the water still running. He jumped off the bed and raced across the room, hands reaching for the door handle before he was even there. Part of him thought that it couldn’t be that easy, that Ian was just waiting for him to make a move and jump him any second, but Ian didn’t appear. He reached the door, grabbed the handle with both hands and pulled. Nothing. He tried again, to no avail, then pushed. The door didn’t budge. _Shit._ While still pressing against the door with all his weight, he caught sight of a small white box in the wall next to it. An electronic code lock. He flipped the lid open and stared at the number pad underneath. No fingerprints anywhere. The keys were all shiny, mocking him with their cleanliness. Of course it wasn’t that easy. Ian wasn’t dumb. He slammed the lid shut in frustration.

Turning around, he took in the room. It was sparsely decorated. The floor was wooden, the walls white. The bed was king-sized with cream-colored sheets. The headboard he’d been sitting against was made of black metal. On the other side of the room stood a sturdy wooden table, flanked by two chairs. A solid metal ring was bolted onto the surface of the table. A pair of handcuffs dangled from it. Jackson slumped against the wall in search of support. Next to the table were two windows. Through the glass, he could see gray iron bars. No way out. And nothing he could use as a weapon.

“Get in here.” The sound of Ian’s voice made him jump. He whirled around and found Ian leaning in the doorframe to the bathroom. He was naked. Water dripped from his wet hair onto his shoulders. His right hand played casually with his hard cock. “I want you cleaned up before I take you to bed,” he said.

Jackson shook his head. “Please let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “You boys all sound like a broken record in the beginning, you know that? Now move. Don’t make me come and get you.”

Jackson took a step backwards. “I don’t even know where we are. Just drop me off somewhere. Please.”

“Alrighty then.” Ian let go of his cock and it smacked against his belly. He started to move towards Jackson.

Jackson kept going backwards, keeping the distance for now, well aware that he wouldn’t be able to evade Ian for long in this confined space. He reached the room’s corner within a couple of steps then started to change direction. Ian cut him off before he managed another step. He ducked when Ian reached for him, intending to slip through under his arm. Ian, obviously well acquainted with boys trying to get away, caught him by the neck and forced his head down before steering him towards the bathroom. Jackson stumbled to keep his balance. Ian’s fingers on his neck felt like steel pliers and he cried out when Ian deliberately squeezed down. He twisted around, grabbed Ian’s wrist with both hands and tried to pry his fingers off.

Ian shook him sharply. “Stop that right now,” he said calmly. When Jackson didn’t immediately release him, he tightened his hold further.

Jackson yelped again when the pain in his neck increased. He forced himself to take his hands off Ian’s fingers. Ian held him still for another moment, making sure he got the message. And Jackson got it loud and clear. _I’m calling the shots._ Despite the pain, he resisted the urge to grab Ian’s wrist again and was rewarded by Ian loosening his grip and shoving him into the shower stall.

“Strip,” Ian ordered.

Jackson rubbed his aching neck and shook his head, though he figured he’d lose his clothes soon enough, with or without his compliance. He recoiled when Ian reached into the stall, but instead of hitting him, Ian just turned on the shower. The water was lukewarm at first, then turned icy cold in a matter of seconds. Jackson jumped and tried to get out of the stall, but Ian blocked his way, pushed him back under the spray and kept him there with a hand to his chest. The cold water soaked his hair and clothes and made him shiver.

Ian watched him with a callous expression on his face. “Hot water’s out,” he said. “Now lose the clothes or I swear, I’ll keep you in there until you turn blue.”

Jackson stared at him, contemplated his options and came to the conclusion that he didn’t have any. There was no way he’d get out of the shower stall as long as Ian didn’t want him to. And in his current state, weakened by the lack of sleep and food and with his muscles already starting to tremble from the cold, he couldn’t even put up a good fight. Defeated, he pulled off his shirt and handed it to Ian. The pants were more difficult. Despite the cold, he felt the heat rising in his cheeks when he stepped out of them. He started to turn away from Ian’s hungry gaze, then decided that the effort wasn’t worth it. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and unsuccessfully tried to get the tremors in his muscles under control.

Ian looked him over appreciatively. “Very nice. I knew you’d be sporty underneath your clothes.” He held out a bottle of shampoo. “Wash up. Hair too.” Jackson took it with shaking hands and soaped himself up as fast he could, desperate to get out of the cold water. His bloody wrists burned in the foam. His compliance seemed to please Ian, who turned off the water as soon as the last soap remnants had washed off his body, took a hold of his elbow and hauled him out of the shower and through the door.

Jackson tried to catch a hold of the doorframe, but his wet fingers slipped over the smooth wood without slowing Ian down. “Can I have a towel?” he asked with chattering teeth. “I’m cold.”

Ian dragged him through the bedroom and shoved him onto the bed. “Don’t bother. I’ll warm you up.”

Jackson crawled backwards, even though he knew it was useless. There was no way out of this room with its code lock. Ian was going to have his way with him and there was nothing he could do against it. As if to prove him right, Ian seized his foot and yanked him back, nipping his weak escape attempt in the bud before climbing onto the bed with him. He pushed Jackson onto his back and bent over him.

The sensible part of his brain told him to just resign himself to what was about to come and get it over with as fast and painless as possible, but the impulse to get away, to do _something_ won out. He drew up his leg and tried to knee Ian in the balls. He almost succeeded, but then Ian caught on to his intention and hurriedly moved out of the way. He grunted when Jackson’s knee missed its goal by a couple of inches and instead collided with the inside of his thigh. His facial expression darkened and he struck before Jackson got a chance to shield himself.

The first hit split his lip open. The second caught his cheekbone. Pain bloomed through his mouth and the inside of his cheek started to bleed again immediately. Jackson rolled onto his side and jerked his hands up to protect his face from further hits, but none came. Instead, Ian used his own momentum to roll him over onto his belly. Before he got his elbows underneath himself, Ian had a hand between his shoulder blades and pressed him into the mattress. Jackson gave it another fruitless try, then settled down and dropped his face into the sheets. This was it. There was nowhere left to go. His pulse skyrocketed when Ian draped himself over his back, hard cock catching against the crease of his ass.

“You know, I was going to play nice with you,” Ian said conversationally while he groped Jackson’s ass with his free hand. “Ease you into it, maybe even give you a moment to adjust. But my consideration doesn’t seem to be appreciated, so rough and fast it is.” He positioned his cock and started to push.

At first it was just an uncomfortable pressure and for a few grateful seconds, Jackson thought it wasn’t going to work, Ian wasn’t going to get in. Then Ian leaned into him and _shoved_. The pressure turned into piercing pain as something gave way and Ian forced himself inside. Jackson threw his head back and screamed, begged Ian to stop, _please, please, just stop_ , but Ian kept on pushing fast and relentless until he was slotted deep inside, balls resting against Jackson’s ass.

Then he dropped down onto Jackson’s back, elbows on either side of him, mouth close to his ear. “You haven’t been fucked before, have you?” He playfully bit into Jackson’s neck and pulled out halfway before pushing back in, settling into a hard and steady rhythm.

Jackson squeezed his eyes shut, unable to think beyond the horrible pain. He cried out when Ian gave a particularly hard thrust. “Please stop,” he begged, voice breaking.

But Ian kept his punishing pace. His balls slapped against Jackson’s ass with every thrust. “Answer me,” he demanded. “Have you been fucked before?”

Jackson shook his head. No, he hadn’t. He and Brooke had fooled around before they’d broken up, and she’d been pretty adventurous, certainly more than him, but the idea of him being on the receiving end had never occurred to them. “Please,” he said again.

Ian didn’t miss a beat. “Am I hurting you?” He licked along Jackson’s neck and snapped his hips viciously and Jackson yelled. “Good.” Ian grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head back. Then he bit into Jackson’s shoulder, not playful this time but hard and merciless while speeding up his thrusts.

Jackson screamed and thrashed, trying to get away because _it hurt, it hurt so bad,_ but not getting anywhere. His fingers, desperate for purchase, scrabbled over the smooth sheets and found the pillow. He clutched an edge and clung to it while Ian’s thrusts turned erratic and then slowed down.

Ian pushed in deep one last time, stilled and groaned. Then he released Jackson’s shoulder and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “That was delightful,” he said. He hefted himself up onto his hands and withdrew with a squelching sound.

It hurt just as much as pushing in had and Jackson swallowed down another cry. The bed dipped as Ian climbed off and went into the bathroom. Moments later Jackson heard a water tap running. He heaved himself up onto his elbows and rubbed his eyes with his hands. His bitten shoulder stung fiercely, so he rolled over onto his side to find a more comfortable position. The movement sent a new wave of sharp pain through his ass and he whimpered. Despite the pain, he felt oddly numb. He watched Ian come back out of the bathroom and wipe his hands on a towel.

“I’ll make us some dinner,” Ian said. “Any special requests?”

“No. I don’t care,” Jackson said, amazed that he was able to calmly talk about dinner after having just been violently assaulted. He followed Ian with his eyes as he went to the door and counted four beeps as Ian unlocked it. Four simple digits that stood in the way of his freedom. As the door slammed shut behind Ian, the numbness slowly drained away and desperation took its place. He turned his face into the pillow and cried.


	6. Chapter 6

It took him a while to calm down. Every time he thought he was done crying, he felt new tears tickle at the back of his eyes. Eventually he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to stave them off. When the tears finally ran dry, he wiped a hand over his face and took a stuttering breath. _It’s alright_ , he told himself. _I’m okay._ Except that he really wasn’t okay. His body was aching and sore in places he didn’t even know could hurt. He shifted onto his back and grimaced. The very thing he’d dreaded the most had happened and he might be hurt, but he was fine. Everything was fine. To prove it to himself, he checked his injuries one by one.

He traced the wound in his cheek with his tongue, then ran it over his lip. The cuts were still bleeding slightly. Nothing serious. There was a dull throb in his cheekbone but it didn’t feel too bad when he gingerly poked it with his index finger. The sting in his shoulder had lessened a bit. He ran his fingertips over the indentations Ian’s teeth had left. They’d fade. His wrists were still bruised and raw and they’d probably stay that way for a while. Nothing he could do about it. Still, he kept studying them for a couple of minutes while working up the courage to check _there_. Check just how badly he was really hurt. He could feel a slick wetness between his butt cheeks and while some of that was probably Ian’s come, he fully expected to find blood. He blinked a couple of times and bit into his stinging bottom lip, steeling himself, before he cautiously reached between his legs. His fingers slipped around in the moisture. The area was swollen and it hurt, but from what he could tell, he didn’t seem to be torn up all that much. Aside from the pain, the skin felt almost normal under his careful prods. He sighed in relief. His fingers were, of course, bloody when he pulled his hand back. He wiped them on the sheets. _I am okay,_ he repeated, this time with more conviction. He rolled out of bed and winced, first at the sharp twinge of pain and then at sight of the bloody spots his ass had left on the sheets before uncomfortably shrugging it off. No use dwelling on it when he couldn’t change it anyway. Getting out of here was more important. There had to be a way.

First, he checked the number pad of the lock, hoping to find some indication which digits Ian had pressed, but the keys didn’t reveal anything. He pressed number 1 with his index finger to see if it left a print and came up empty. Still, he now knew that the code consisted of four numbers. That left him with a lot of possible combinations, but if Ian left him alone for a longer period of time, he would eventually be able to find the right one by simple trial and error. Not now though. It was highly unlikely that he’d hit the right combination by starting with 1111 and Ian was still in the house and would probably be back soon. Jackson didn’t want to unnecessarily piss him off.

He shut the lid and inspected the windows. They weren’t locked and he opened one and stuck his head out as far as the bars allowed him to. The view was limited. All he could see was the green backyard with some flowers, the soft slope of the hill and a lot of small bushes. No open fields, not even a glimpse of the road they’d come down. The ground was about ten feet below. Not too high to jump. He took a hold of the bars and pushed, just to make sure that they were cemented into the wall. Naturally, they didn’t budge. He sighed, not surprised but disappointed nonetheless, and turned towards the bathroom.

The door between the two rooms opened into the bathroom. He stepped through the frame and contemplated locking himself into the bathroom, only to discover that the door lacked a lock. _Crap._ He kicked the door wide open and watched it bounce off the wall before he turned around.

Earlier, getting out of the icy water had been his only priority and he hadn’t spared the interior any attention. Now he took it in. Aside from the shower, the bathroom contained a toilet, a simple white vanity with a mirror fixed over it, a large corner bathtub, a tiny barred window – and another door. He spotted the box for the code lock from across the room, but he rushed over and tried the handle anyway. Locked, just as he had expected. The tiled floor was empty. His clothes were gone and there was no trace of Ian’s clothes or the knife either. Probably stored safely behind this very door.

He opened the doors of the vanity’s cabinet and peered inside. It was filled with white towels, plastic cups, toothpaste and new, still boxed in toothbrushes. Jackson filled a cup with water and slowly drank it while consciously avoiding the mirror. He didn’t want to see himself, not now when he was barely holding it together. He feared it would send him into another tailspin. He sat the cup down, unwrapped a toothbrush and brushed his teeth, savoring the minty taste in his mouth. After that he took a leak and gently washed the blood off his backside. When he was done, he felt a little better. He went through the stack of towels, looking for something soft and large to wrap himself into, but the towels were too small for his liking. Right now he craved more coverage.

He went back into the bedroom and threw the bedspread over his shoulders. Then he settled onto the bed, carefully avoiding the bloody spots on the sheets. The sun was gone. The air had gotten chilly and smelled of rain. Outside, he heard heavy drops falling onto the bushes. He shivered but didn’t want to close the window, didn’t want to shut the door on what felt like a tiny slice of freedom. Instead, he snuggled deeper into the soft fabric.

His mind wandered to his father and Tyler. On a normal evening, Dad would get home from work and they’d have dinner together. More often than not, Dad would then disappear into his home office for another couple of hours. Tyler would lounge in front of the television, sometimes with a couple of friends. What they were doing now, with him gone? Were they sitting at the police station? Searching for him? And what were they thinking? They had to know he’d never run off. The police just _had_ to make a connection between his disappearance and Casey’s. He briefly mused about Casey’s whereabouts. If he really was being taken to New York, then he was probably still tied up and stashed in a trunk somewhere, and he’d stay there for another couple of days. And once he arrived at his destination… Jackson quickly shut that line of thought down. He could only too well imagine what would be happening to Casey then and he really didn’t want to think about it. Instead, he wondered about Ryan and Brooke. Ryan and his family had to know that he was missing as he’d skipped out on their dinner. Brooke, he wasn’t so sure. They’d stayed friends after their breakup, but they often didn’t hear from each other for days. School would start again in two days. Then, everybody would know. And everybody would go on with their lives while he was trapped here. The thought evoked a new surge of desperation and brought fresh tears to his eyes. He angrily wiped them away and jumped to his feet. _No._ He’d get out, and fast.

Disregarding his earlier decision to wait until he was alone in the house, he started punching the numbers into the code lock, methodically working his way up from 1111 while keeping an ear on the floor outside, listening for Ian’s footsteps. It was slow-going and the steady beeps of the keys blended into a soothing noise that made it hard to concentrate. He paused once when he thought he heard something and had trouble remembering where he’d been when he continued. He was up to 1179 when the beeping suddenly stopped. Perplexed, he pressed a few more keys. Silence. Either the lock had shut itself down because he’d entered too many wrong combinations or Ian had taken notice of his activities and put a stop to them. Before he could make up his mind which option was the most likely _– the latter, oh shit, Ian knew –_ he heard footsteps outside. He backed away from the lock and pulled the bedspread more firmly around himself.  

Seconds later, the door swung open and Ian stepped inside. He was still naked. He carried a plastic plate with a sandwich on it. “Dinner’s ready,” he said as he crossed the room and placed the plate onto the table, next to the handcuffs. Then he took a seat and pointed towards the second chair. “Sit down. I bet you’re hungry.”

Jackson hadn’t spared dinner a second thought, but now that the food was right in front of him, his stomach growled. He sat down carefully, supporting himself on the table with his elbows and wincing at the pain.

Ian leaned back in his chair and gesticulated towards the plate. “Go ahead,” he said.

Jackson felt his eyes on him as he took the sandwich and dug in.

“I know you’ve been having fun with the lock,” Ian said casually when he was almost finished.

Jackson froze mid-bite. The food in his mouth suddenly tasted sour. He forced the lump of bread and cheese down his throat and then stared silently at the plate, fighting to keep what he’d just swallowed from coming up again.

“I don’t mind, actually,” Ian continued.

Jackson raised his head in disbelief and looked at him.

Ian smiled. “In fact, I think it’s a good thing you went for it so fast. Now you’ve got it out of your system and can move on. The earlier you accept that there’s no way out, the better you’ll settle in. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Jackson felt his hackles rise at that statement. He glared at Ian. “I’ll never settle in. Never.”

Ian leaned forward and looked him straight in the eyes. ”If you want to make this harder on yourself, keep trying. But you’re not going anywhere. I’ve turned off the sound and changed the code. It’s not four digits anymore.” He sounded smug.

Jackson resisted the urge to throw the rest of the sandwich into Ian’s face. He was disgusted with Ian and even more so with himself. He’d fucked up and let his impatience get the better of him. He should have waited until Ian left the house, then he might have stood a chance. _So stupid._ His hands shook while he fought with himself. In the end, he chucked the sandwich down onto the plate, sending breadcrumbs and cheese flying over the table.

Ian raised his eyebrows and clucked his tongue. “We’ll have to work on your table manners.”

Jackson snorted. “As if you know anything about manners. You kidnapped me, you fucking asshole!”

Ian leaned back in his chair and reached between his legs. “Keep going,” he said. “Get me ready for round two. I haven’t had that short a refractory period since I was your age."

To Jackson’s horror, his cock was hardening again. “No. No, please,” he said. “I’m still bleeding.” At least it felt like he was, when he tentatively shifted his weight to find a more comfortable position.

Ian chuckled. “You better get used to it. I like it that way.” He kept working his cock with his hand, bringing it to full hardness with alarming speed.

Jackson stared at him while he processed the words. He rolled them around in his head, tried to turn them into something less terrifying and failed. He opened his mouth to plead with Ian once again, but the words were stuck in his throat. And what good would it do anyway? By now he knew that begging didn’t change anything. It only seemed to amuse Ian. Pretty much all his actions seemed to, as long as he didn’t outright attack him. He glanced down at Ian’s cock, fully erect now, then raised his head again and met Ian’s eyes. There was a cold gleam in them that made the tiny hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. It also confirmed what he already knew – there was nothing he could say to get out of this. It would happen again and it would hurt like hell. Ian would make sure of that.

Ian motioned towards his cock with his eyes. “Want to suck it first?” he asked nonchalantly. “If you do a good job, I might even go easy on you. Maybe get some lube to go with the blood.” He softly rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock.

Jackson bit the inside of his cheek while he considered the proposition for a hot second. He had no experience in giving blowjobs, nor did he want to acquire any, but he could give it a shot. And he probably should, if it made things easier – except that he was almost certain that Ian was just playing with him. A ‘good job’ was a matter of interpretation and the words ‘might’ and ‘maybe’ didn’t inspire much confidence in him. It wouldn’t matter how good he did. There’d be no reprieve. He pressed his lips together.

“I guess that’s a ‘no’. Pity. We’ll get to it another time, then. Maybe tomorrow.” Ian rose to his feet and reached for him. His fingers closed around Jackson’s elbow. “Get up,” he said.

Jackson took a hold of the edge of the tabletop. “Please don’t,” he begged, regardless of his earlier revelation.

Ian snorted. “Get up,” he repeated unfazed, and when Jackson didn’t move, he slammed his fist down onto his fingers.

Jackson yelped, more out of surprise than pain, and let go of the table. Ian yanked him onto his feet and hauled him towards the bed. He felt his pulse quicken and tried to calm himself down. He’d gotten through it the first time, he could do it again. He’d be fine. He had pretty much arranged himself with his fate when his eyes fell on the blood specks on the sheets. Then the memory of Ian’s fingers on his naked skin, his dick moving inside him and the awful pain rushed him and threw him off balance. “No,” he squawked, an edge of hysteria in his voice, and threw himself backwards. He wasn’t expecting to get anywhere, not really, but the bedspread slid off his shoulders and suddenly Ian’s grip on him was loosening. The fingers on his elbow were slipping off with the fabric. He freed himself with a quick wrench of his arm, darted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Then he leaned against it, well aware that this wouldn’t stop Ian from coming in.  

As if to confirm his thoughts, Ian knocked on the other side. “You know there’s no lock, don’t you? I left you alone long enough to check it out. Now open up. Don’t make me do it for you.” He sounded pissed.

Jackson rested his head against the wood and breathed out heavily through his nose. He felt slightly sick. It was only a matter of time until Ian would force his way into the bathroom, and then what? The only thing he was achieving with this performance was Ian’s wrath. He should just man up and get it over with. But he was unable to give up the flimsy bit of security the door provided. “Fuck you,” he yelled in a pitiful attempt at rebellion.

Moments later, the door pushed against his back as Ian leaned into it. Jackson felt cold sweat break out on his neck. His bare feet slid over the smooth tiles, unable to gain any hold, and there was nothing he could use for leverage. He turned sideways and set his shoulder against the wood, but in this position he was even less of a match for Ian’s heavier weight. A couple of seconds later, the door flew towards him after a hefty shove from outside and smacked him in the face. Jackson stumbled backwards. He made a surprised noise that quickly turned into a groan when his nose exploded in pain. His eyes started to water and the scent of blood filled his nostrils. He brought his hands up to cover his nose and felt his fingers slipping in moisture.

Then Ian was in the bathroom with him. He crowded Jackson against the wall and caged him in by placing his hands on either side of his head. “Aw, did you hurt yourself?” he asked in a mocking tone. His face was set in a dark, yet delighted expression. “Let me see.”

Jackson made a sound of protest behind his hands and shook his head.

Ian huffed. “You really don’t want to piss me off anymore tonight. I mean it.” He took a hold of Jackson’s wrists, fingers closing over the torn skin the cable ties had left behind.

The grip hurt and Jackson grimaced. He didn’t resist when Ian pulled his hands away from his face. The pain in his nose had subsided into a dull buzzing. He kept his gaze downward, eyes firmly fixed on the smudges of blood on his fingers, while Ian took a thorough look at his face. When Ian reached for him, he involuntarily jerked backwards. His head connected with the cold tiles behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian’s lips curve into a smirk. Then Ian’s fingers were in his face and rudely prodded his nose. From the way it barely hurt, he could tell that it was fine. So could Ian. He lashed out and slapped Jackson upside the head. Jackson yanked his hands up to protect himself from further hits, but none came.

Instead, Ian grabbed him by the hair and knocked his head against the wall. “You’re lucky you’re still pretty,” he hissed, face inches from Jackson’s. “I prefer to damage the goods with my own hands.” He flicked his fingers against Jackson’s lips, then lightly traced their shape with the tip of his index finger.

Jackson didn’t dare to breathe. Ian’s calm intensity scared him more than his violent outbursts did. His stomach churned and his head suddenly felt like it was bursting with tears. He blinked to steady himself and a tiny whimper escaped his throat.

Ian laughed. “You are so damn cute when you’re scared,” he said. He leaned in closer and chuckled when Jackson flinched. Hand still in Jackson’s hair, he forced his head to the side and bit softly into his neck. His cock pressed up against Jackson’s belly, rubbing slowly back and forth.

Jackson didn’t move. He kept his hands up in front of him, a small and useless barrier between himself and Ian’s body, and stared over Ian’s shoulder at the window. Outside, it was still raining; heavy drops were hitting the window pane. Dusk was falling and it was slowly getting dim in the bathroom. A little more than twenty-four hours ago, Ian had tricked and abducted him. It seemed like a lifetime when it was really only one day. Just one day at Ian’s mercy and he already felt like he couldn’t take it anymore.

He bit into his bottom lip when Ian’s teeth sunk into the juncture between neck and shoulder, bracing himself for the pain and still unable to keep quiet when it set in. “Stop it!” he squeaked and pushed at Ian’s chest with both hands. Ian ignored his efforts and shifted even closer, effectively trapping Jackson’s hands between them. Then he bit down violently. Jackson didn’t bother to suppress the scream that crawled up his throat. He struggled against Ian’s hold and tried to break out to either side, even tried to drop to the floor, but Ian blocked every escape route. In the end, he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth around the pained sobs that escaped him until Ian released him.

“That was for the shit you just pulled,” Ian said. “Now be a good boy and bend over. I’m getting tired and I want this” – he motioned to his cock – “taken care of before we go to bed.” He pointedly looked at Jackson. “Don’t make me hurt you again.” His tone betrayed his words. It was obvious that he was hoping Jackson would do exactly that – piss him off some more so he could dish out another punishment. Jackson rubbed the stinging bite and stared back at him. Apparently satisfied by that non-response, Ian wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and dragged him across the room.

Jackson let himself get manhandled. No matter how much he didn’t want this, he was exhausted. The lack of sleep, the constant uncertainty and fear of the last twenty-four hours and this latest run-in with Ian had drained him. Right now, he didn’t have much energy left. Certainly not enough to put up another useless fight. He didn’t struggle when Ian bent him over the vanity. Going down, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The blood smears on his nose and mouth, the cut in his lip, the dark bruise on his cheekbone, the bite marks on his neck, and particularly his red rimmed eyes and the dark circles underneath them – he looked wrecked. Beyond his shoulder, Ian loomed with a thrilled glint in his eyes and Jackson quickly lowered his gaze. Christ, he didn’t want to see this. He propped himself up on his elbows and rested his forehead on his fists.

Ian leaned over him and brought his mouth close to his ear. “Sure you don’t want to watch?” he asked. He turned his head and licked a wet stripe over Jackson’s neck. His cock bumped against Jackson’s ass.

Jackson suppressed a shudder and closed his eyes.

Ian laughed. “Guess not. Alright, let’s see if I can make you scream again. Want to bet?” He placed a hand on Jackson’s neck and squeezed until Jackson pulled his shoulders up at the discomfort. Then he pushed Jackson’s legs apart with his knee, reached between his butt cheeks and roughly shoved two fingers inside.

Jackson inadvertently rocked forward at the bright burn.

“Looks like you’ve stopped bleeding,” Ian commented. “Too bad, now we’ll have to start over.” He pulled his fingers out and lined his cock up.

Jackson felt his muscles tense at the contact. He tried to prepare himself by taking a deep breath and Ian took this moment to push the head in, reopening all the little tears that had just crusted over. It felt like someone was shoving a wad of barbed wire into him. The air escaped his throat in a wheeze. He jerked forward, trying to get away from the source of the pain, but the vanity blocked his way. Ian increased the pressure on his neck, keeping him down while he forced himself the rest of the way in. Jackson couldn’t suppress a sob. _Fuck, it hurt._

Balls resting against his ass, Ian bent over him. “You should have taken me up on my offer and gotten yourself some lube.” He grunted while he pulled halfway out and drove back in with a cruel snap of his hips. Jackson whimpered, which Ian seemed to take for agreement. “Maybe you’ll be smarter tomorrow.” He rested his free hand on the vanity next to Jackson’s head and settled into an irregular pace. The strokes varied between fast and slow, but they were continually vicious, changing the angle every so often and inflicting as much pain as possible.

_Oh God, make it stop, make it stop already!_ Jackson dropped his forehead onto the cool surface of the vanity and grabbed a fistful of his own hair in an attempt to ground himself. _I can do this. I’ll be fine._ But the next thrust sent him scrambling onto his toes when Ian used his superior height to brutally aim upwards, and he lost what little bit of composure he’d gained. He threw his head back and cried out.

“There you go,” Ian said in a husky voice. He shoved in deep and sunk down over Jackson’s back. His breath whooshed across Jackson’s shoulders as he came.

Jackson felt a surge of relief when he realized that, for now, it was nearly over. He settled his forehead onto his fists again. _I’m okay._ Ian kept fucking into him with tiny motions as he rode out his orgasm. His thumb rubbed small circles into the back of Jackson’s neck, almost soothingly, and Jackson suddenly felt sick to his stomach at the weird intimacy of the gesture. He dry heaved. The rubbing on his neck stopped immediately.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Ian said. He sounded incredulous. Then his fingers tightened and he yanked Jackson’s head over the washbowl. “If you make a mess, you clean it up,” he warned while continuing to move his hips, his softening cock still nestled deep inside.

Jackson stared into the white bowl and waited for the remains of the sandwich to come up, but nothing happened.

Eventually, Ian gave him a nudge into the back of the head. “You going to throw up now or not?”

Jackson shook his head. “No. It’s fine.” And it was. The urge to vomit had vanished as abruptly as it had come.  

“Great,” Ian said, sounding cross. He placed a hand onto the small of Jackson’s back and withdrew.

Jackson winced as Ian’s cock slipped out of him and smacked against his ass, where it left a wet sensation behind. Seconds later, he felt a line of liquid trickle down the inside of his left thigh. He swallowed and shifted his weight and was rewarded by another drip down his right leg. _Shit. It was worse this time._  

“Move over.” Ian shoved his head out of the washbowl and hoisted his dick and balls into it. His cock was covered in blood and some streaks of come. The fluids stuck to his pubic hair.

Jackson, still bent over, couldn’t help but stare as Ian turned on the tap and washed the blood off his crotch. It swirled down the drain and vanished. His blood, and more of it kept seeping down his thighs. He felt anger rise in his chest; anger at his own powerlessness, at Ian and his cruelty and, most of all, at the sheer unfairness of the whole situation. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked bitterly, well aware that there was no satisfying answer.    

Ian’s lips curled into a smile. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s fun.” He shook the water off his cock and patted it dry with a towel. Then he looked down at Jackson and frowned. “You look like shit. Come here.” He seized a handful of Jackson’s hair and pulled him over to the washbowl while he wet the towel under the tap with his other hand.

It was easy to hold still and let Ian scrub the dried blood from his collision with the door off his face. But it ached when Ian started to roughly clean his ass and Jackson cringed away from the touch.

Ian followed him and kept wiping harshly without missing a beat. “Stop it,” he admonished.

Jackson bit into his tongue to keep quiet. Ian had been inside him twice and _that_ had really hurt. This was nothing.

“Alright.” Ian tossed the towel into the washbowl. The blood stains, looking dark red in the faint light, stood out starkly on the white fabric. “Let’s go to bed.” He slapped Jackson’s ass.

Jackson bolted upright and winced at the twinge of pain the movement caused. “Please – I can’t go again.” And right now, he really felt like he wouldn’t be able to stand another round. He was sore all over, bleeding and worn out. He stared into Ian’s eyes, searching for an inkling of understanding. “Please,” he said again.   

Ian’s face was unreadable in the near dark as he stood there and held Jackson’s gaze. Then he laughed. “Kid, I’m forty-two, not thirteen. Don’t worry, I won’t be able to get it up again. Come on now, I’m tired.” He steered Jackson out of the bathroom.

Jackson allowed himself a silent sigh of relief. He let Ian push him onto the mattress and didn’t resist when Ian curled up behind him and pulled him close until his back was flush against Ian’s chest. A couple of hours ago, he would have strongly protested the notion of sharing a bed with Ian. Now, after everything he’d been forced to endure, it barely registered. Ian’s soft cock snuggled up against the cleft of his ass and he uneasily shifted a couple of inches forward.

“Uh uh,” Ian said in a warning tone and dragged him back again. “You stay right there.” His hand trailed upwards over Jackson’s chest and settled onto his collarbone, thumb pressed against his neck. His breath washed over Jackson’s hair.

Jackson blinked into the dark, shoulders tense. He could feel his pulse beat against Ian’s thumb. Ian might not be able to get it up right now, but there were other ways he could amuse himself if he chose to. He shuddered at the thought.

Behind him, Ian sighed. “Would you just relax already?” He tapped his fingers against Jackson’s collarbone. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Jackson could feel tears prickle at the back of his eyes. “Sorry,” he forced out and took a deep breath. _Calm down._ He’d been running on empty for hours now and his brain seemed not only unable to form a coherent thought, but also unable to shut down. He really needed to rest and start over tomorrow with fresh eyes. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing evenly while repeating _calm down_ in his head in a steady rhythm. Eventually, he slipped into sleep.  


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t a very peaceful sleep. He startled every time Ian moved and then lay awake for a while, blinking into the dark and trying not to freak out. Going back to sleep became more and more difficult.

He tried to move away from Ian a few times, but even half asleep, Ian seemed to be well aware of his surroundings and he pulled Jackson back whenever their bodies lost contact. After the third attempt, he tightened his hold on Jackson’s neck and mumbled a reprimand. The words were unintelligible, but the meaning came across loud and clear and Jackson didn’t try again.

He willed himself back into an uneven doze while dawn was breaking. When Ian stirred and bumped against him, he snapped awake again.  

Ian groaned. “Goddamn, you’re a restless sleeper.” He propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

Jackson watched him warily. A dull headache was throbbing in his temples and he didn’t feel any more rested than yesterday night. He shifted onto his back and grimaced at the sharp pain that shot through his backside. If anything, he was worse now and he felt in no way prepared for another day with Ian.

Ian smiled, apparently amused by his discomfort. “Good morning,” he said.

He seemed refreshed, as if he hadn’t spent half the night awake, reining Jackson in. It wasn’t fair. “Fuck you,” Jackson muttered.

Ian chuckled. “Aw, are we in a bad mood?” He rolled onto Jackson in one swift motion. His soft cock twitched when it slipped against Jackson’s body.

Jackson squeezed deeper into the mattress in a fruitless attempt to put some space between them. When Ian moved in for a kiss, he turned his head to the side. Ian grabbed his chin and forced his face back up before leaning in again. His tongue demanded instant entry and Jackson pressed his lips together in irritation.

Ian paused. “Don’t do this,” he said against Jackson’s lips. “Don’t piss me off this early in the morning.”

Jackson waffled for a second while he stared up into Ian’s eyes. The urge to keep resisting just for the hell of it was strong, but picking a fight would get him nowhere. He let his head sink into the pillow and reluctantly opened his mouth.

“Good boy,” Ian said and licked inside before biting softly into Jackson’s bottom lip.

It stung when his teeth closed over the old cut and Jackson winced before catching himself. In the grand scheme of things, this was ridiculous. He forced himself to relax and let Ian take over his mouth while his gaze wandered to the window. The sun had risen, but the daylight was dimmed by heavy clouds. It was still raining and a cool breeze blew into the room. Miserable and cold, rather fitting for his situation, Jackson thought bitterly. His focus snapped back to Ian when Ian released his mouth and buried his face into his neck, stubble scratching over his skin. He tensed in anticipation of a painful bite. Instead, he felt the vibrations of silent laughter against his skin.

“Ease up,” Ian said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He pressed a kiss to Jackson’s neck and rolled off him.

Jackson huffed. Not going to hurt him. Right. But he refrained from making a snappy comment so as not to push his luck.

“I’m going for a run,” Ian said over his shoulder while disappearing into the bathroom. Shortly after, the sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl filled the air. “When I get back,” Ian shouted over the noise of the flush, “we’ll have breakfast and then we’ll see what else the day has to offer.”

Jackson heard him open the second door and then the rustling of clothes. He rolled onto his side and pulled the bedspread over himself. Going for a run? That meant he’d be left alone for a while. He watched Ian come out of the bathroom again, dressed in sweatpants, a t-shirt and running shoes and felt a sudden longing for his own clothes. Not so much to dress, because really, at this point, Ian had seen it all anyway. No, he wanted to touch something familiar, maybe even smell it, get a whiff of home.    

“Can I –“ he cleared his throat, “can I get my clothes back?”

Ian stopped and looked at him. “What would you need clothes for?” he asked in a mocking tone.

“I just – please?” Jackson pled softly.

Ian shook his head. “No,” he said with finality in his voice. Case closed. On his way to the door, he pointed to the table and the remains of the sandwich still lying scattered on top. “Make yourself useful while I’m gone and clean that mess up.” His body shielded the lock from Jackson’s view when he entered the code. Then he was gone.

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief into the silence. No clothes, but alone. Finally. He ran a hand over his face and cautiously stretched his legs before he climbed out of the bed. The deep seated ache in his ass made him wince as he limped into the bathroom. He took a leak and spritzed some cold water into his face, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Slowly, he crawled back into the bed, curled up under the bedspread and closed his eyes. Just a couple of minutes of undisturbed rest, then he’d be fresh enough to check the room again and search for possible escape routes. There had to be a way. _Had to._

He dozed off, deeply this time, and only came to again when Ian seized his ankle and yanked him out of his warm nest under the covers. He landed with a thud on the hard floor and groaned. _Crap._ He’d slept through his alone time.

Ian stood over him, soaked with rain and sweat, and regarded him with an enraptured expression on his face. Jackson didn’t like it at all. He shuffled backwards to put some space between himself and Ian, but Ian wasn’t having it. He followed him and nudged his thigh with the toes of his running shoes. The water dripped out of his hair onto Jackson’s head as he bent over, placed a hand on the side of Jackson’s neck and tilted his face up with his thumb.

“You didn’t clean the table.” Ian motioned towards it with his head. “You know I’ll have to punish you for that, don’t you?”

Jackson’s gaze slipped to the table before focusing on Ian’s face again. He swallowed with difficulty. “Sorry, I fell asleep. I’ll do it now.”

Ian pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if considering this. His thumb wandered upwards until it rested against Jackson’s bottom lip. Then his face split into a wide grin and he laughed out loud. “You are adorable,” he said and ruffled through Jackson’s hair. “It’s fine.” He pushed the dried crumbs of bread and cheese on the table together with his hands and shoved them onto the plate. “Let’s take a shower.” He went into the bathroom. “Come on.”

Jackson stayed on the floor and hugged his knees while he waited for his breathing to even out. Christ, he needed to get his shit together and not freak out every time Ian looked at him askance, or he’d lose his mind. He rested his forehead on his knees and listened to the sounds of Ian undressing and turning on the shower.

“Get your ass in here,” Ian bellowed. “Now!”

_Play along._ _Play along and try not to get hurt too much._ The thought didn’t appeal to him, but in here it was Ian’s way or the highway. And while he didn’t like Ian’s way, this particular highway was even less attractive. Feeling slightly sick, he rose to his feet and trotted into the bathroom.

Ian’s wet clothes were lying on the floor by the door. He stepped over them and let Ian push him into the shower. The water was warm this time and he readily stayed under the spray. Ian followed him into the stall and ran his hands over his head and down his shoulders. It felt kind of _nice_ and he immediately hated himself for the thought. Great, not even two days with Ian and his sanity was already slipping. Ian’s hands slid down his back to settle on his ass and the somewhat pleasant feeling left him promptly. He tensed and took a step aside in an attempt to shake Ian off.

Ian followed his movement, pressed Jackson against the wall and shoved a finger inside. “Pretty bruised, huh?” he asked, sounding satisfied.

Jackson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. Bruised to hell and back, from the feeling of it.

Ian leaned against him, hard cock pressing into the small of his back, and brought his mouth close to Jackson’s ear. “If it’s hurting now, just think how it’ll feel when I fuck you.”

Jackson leaned his forehead against the cool tiles. Of course Ian would. “Looking forward to it,” he mumbled faintly into the back of his hand, feeling defeated.

Ian snorted. “I bet you are. But not now.” He turned the shower off. “Now, you’ll get onto your knees and blow me.”  

Jackson closed his eyes for a second. Then he turned around and slid to his knees. He could do this. It couldn’t possibly be worse than getting fucked. He gave Ian’s cock a once-over. Close up, it looked huge, the way it rose from the dark nest of pubic hair. The thought of having it in his mouth wasn’t very appealing.

Ian gripped a handful of his hair and bent his head up. “Remember what I said about biting?” he asked.

Jackson nodded. Yeah, he remembered, and he had no desire to find out what a broken jaw felt like.

“Good.” Ian released his hair, but kept his hands on top of Jackson’s head. “Then go ahead.”

“I, uh.” Jackson cleared his throat. “I don’t know how. I’ve never done this before.” He chanced a look at Ian’s face.

Ian grinned down at him. “Well, give it your best shot. We’ll work out the finer points later.”

His tone made Jackson furious and he bit his tongue while sizing up Ian’s dick again.

“You can touch it, you know,” Ian commented dry.

Jackson squashed the violent urge to hit him in the balls. He slowly reached out, closed a hand around the base of Ian’s cock and guided it towards his mouth. The weight was heavy on his tongue, the taste unfamiliar, maybe slightly salty, and he tried to pull back almost instantly.

Ian’s hands on his head held him in place. “Keep going,” he said.

Jackson briefly struggled against the hold, but on his knees and with the shower wall right behind him, he didn’t have much leverage. He breathed out sharply through his nose and steadied himself with a hand on Ian’s thigh while he focused on keeping his teeth in check. _I can do this._ Tentatively he sucked another inch into his mouth and was rewarded with a light pat onto the head. _Okay._ Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. At least it didn’t hurt.

Slowly he moved his head back an inch, then forward again. Above him, Ian hummed approvingly. Encouraged, he slid further down on Ian’s cock and moved his tongue over the vein on the underside. Ian drove his hips forward at that and the head of his dick bumped against the back of Jackson’s throat. Jackson gagged and tried to pull back, but the grip on his head tightened until it felt like he was stuck in a vice. Ian’s coarse pubic hair tickled his nose.

“Relax,” Ian said while holding him still. “I’m getting in anyway.” He pressed a thumb into Jackson’s cheek, keeping his teeth apart, and thrust in again, deliberately shoving his cock down Jackson’s throat.

Jackson gasped for air and got none. Panic flared up in his belly. He pushed against Ian’s thighs in a desperate attempt to throw him off balance. Ian shifted his weight forward and trapped him against the shower wall while he continued to fuck into Jackson’s mouth with small movements, going down his throat ever so often. Jackson felt his throat convulse. He heaved and started to cough, which seemed to push Ian over the edge. His cock twitched on Jackson’s tongue and he pulled back a little. Bitter strings of come filled Jackson’s mouth.

“Swallow,” Ian ordered.

And Jackson tried, he really did, but he couldn’t stop coughing and Ian pulled out at last and released him. He dropped onto his hands and dry heaved a couple of times before he greedily gulped in mouthfuls of air. So much for playing along. This was worse than getting fucked. He could deal with the pain, but not with choking on Ian’s dick.

“Holy shit, do you ever suck at this,” Ian said. He sounded surprised and oddly pleased.  

Jackson sat back onto his heels and looked up at him. Then he deliberately spat out.

Ian raised his eyebrows. “I see the feisty little bitch is back.” He bent down until he was face to face with Jackson. ”You do realize that this is not the end of it, right? You will learn to take me down your throat. It’s just going to be a lot of work.” He smirked. “And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”

Jackson glared at him. He was still breathing heavily and his throat was sore. It made him feel a little rebellious. “So will I,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Ian grabbed him by the hair and bent his head back. “I really should beat the attitude out of you,” he said, but he didn’t seem to be mad. He was smiling and his voice was soft when he continued, “But so far, I kinda like it.” He took a hold of his soft cock and pointed it at Jackson’s face. “I’ve got another gift for you.”

_No, hell no, not again._ Jackson jerked his head away and Ian’s grip on his hair loosened briefly. “I’m not going to suck it again,” he protested. Then Ian got a better hold and pulled him forward until the tip of his cock nearly touched Jackson’s lips. In an act of defiance, he pressed them together, unsure what to do when Ian pursued the matter further. Just open up and get it over with? Keep resisting? Neither seemed like a good option. He peered up at Ian’s face to gauge his mood.

Ian looked down at him with a delighted expression on his features. “Ready?” he asked.

Then a spurt of warm water hit Jackson on the mouth. He blinked in confusion, unable to locate the source of the water for a couple of seconds. The biting smell of urine registered moments later and his gaze flickered down and fixated on the yellow stream flowing across his chin. It took him a moment to process that _holy fucking shit, Ian was pissing on him, was pissing right into his face._ Then he threw himself backwards with such force that Ian lost the grip on his hair. Without Ian’s hand stabilizing him, he tumbled over his heels onto the floor of the shower tub and hit his head on the rim. He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face in an attempt to wipe the piss off.

Ian stepped over him. “Don’t bother,” he said while he reached for his cock again.  

Jackson watched him carefully take aim. Moments later, he felt the warm piss stream across his face again. The urine ran down his neck and pooled underneath his shoulders in the tub. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together and held his breath. _It’s ok._ And yeah, all things considered, this really wasn’t any worse than everything else that had already happened. It was disgusting, but he could take it easily. When the flow stopped, he carefully breathed first out and then in again and wiped the fluid off his eyes before he opened them.  

Ian smiled down at him. “Enjoy the shower? You’re looking real pretty down there.” He shook his cock and the last couple of drops landed on Jackson’s chest.

Jackson narrowed his eyes. There was a salty _Fuck you!_ on the tip of his tongue, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, he impulsively kicked at Ian. There wasn’t much strength in his kick, but his foot connected soundly with Ian’s shin and sent him a step backwards.

Ian grunted. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed as the expression on his face darkened.  

Jackson stared up at him, horrified by himself. _Christ, what had he done?_ Ian moved so fast that he didn’t even get a chance to stutter out an apology. The first hit caught him in the face and pain bloomed across his cheek and shot up to his eye. Jackson twisted onto his side in an attempt to get away and was stopped short by the shower wall. Ian was on him again within seconds, rolled him onto his back and nailed him to the floor with a knee on his chest before hitting him again. Jackson yanked his hands up to protect his face and, by sheer luck, managed to deflect a blow.

Ian grabbed his wrists and forced his hands down. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, sounding irritated.

Jackson felt his painstakingly maintained composure crack. “With me?” he yelled. His voice sounded almost hysterical in his ears. “What is wrong with _me_?” Ian transferred his wrists into one hand and slapped him in the face. Jackson squeezed his eyes together and ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting blood. His heart hammered in a wild rhythm against his ribcage. His brain was racing, seemingly stuck between panicking and flying into a full-on freak-out. He breathed out heavily and a whimper escaped his throat.       

Above him, Ian huffed. “Oh, please. You deserve this and you know it.” He shifted his weight onto the other knee and pointed to his cock. “I should have made you drink it. Next time you make such a fuss, I will.”

When the words registered, Jackson couldn’t suppress a gag. Then the urge to cry and panic vanished and hysterical rage rose in his chest. “A fuss?” he screamed. “I’m not making a fuss and I don’t deserve any of this!” He twisted under Ian’s knee and violently wrenched his hands upwards. To his surprise, he managed to free them and he lashed out blindly with his fists and caught Ian’s thigh. “Just leave me alone!” He only got a couple of hits in before Ian had his wrists securely in his grip again. “Let me go!” He couldn’t stop struggling, couldn’t stand the feeling of Ian’s hands on him for even just a second longer. For a tiny instant, it seemed like he might get free again.

Then Ian leaned forward and put his weight onto the knee still resting on Jackson’s chest. “I thought you were a smart kid,” he said while he closed a hand around Jackson’s throat and squeezed. “Guess I was wrong.”

Jackson writhed in his grip and tried to dislodge Ian’s hand from his throat by shaking his head, but with Ian’s weight resting on him, the attempt was futile. The blind, desperate rage turned into panic in a matter of seconds as he gasped for air and got none. His fingers fruitlessly clawed at Ian’s hand.  

Ian grunted and tightened his fingers another fraction before abruptly letting go. With an iron grip on his wrists, he yanked Jackson onto his knees and hooked an arm around his throat from behind. Then he dragged him out of the shower.  

Jackson wheezed and frantically tried to get his feet underneath himself to lessen the pressure on his throat. He was nearly up when his knees hit the doorframe and knocked him off balance. He fell back into Ian’s grip and didn’t manage to get up again until they reached the table. One chair fell to the ground with a clatter when Ian kicked it out of the way. Then he took the arm from Jackson’s throat, spun him around and bent him over the tabletop. Jackson, gasping for air, went down easily until he spotted Ian reaching for the bolted handcuffs. _No, oh God, please, no._ He reared back, but Ian blocked the way with his body and jammed an elbow between his shoulder blades, forcing him down. He kept struggling, trying to keep his hands away from the cuffs, but eventually the steel closed around his wrists. He tugged on the cuffs with a quick jerk of his wrists and winced when the hard edges dug into the cuts the cable ties had left behind, yet couldn’t bring himself to stop. He kept pulling until Ian pushed his head down onto the table and rendered him nearly immobile. Cheek pressed awkwardly into the wood, he stilled. “You can’t do this to me,” he said, voice hitching.

Ian leaned over him. “Oh, I can,” he said, a thrilled edge in his tone. He gave Jackson’s head a shove. Then he stepped back and left the room.

Jackson heard him unlock the second door inside the bathroom. _The knife. Oh God, he’s getting the knife._ Heart racing, he yanked on the cuffs again but succeeded only in breaking the scab on his wrists. Then he pushed against the table in an attempt to manoeuver it between himself and the bathroom door as a barrier. It didn’t budge. Bolted to the floor. _Shit._ When he heard Ian’s footsteps cross the floor, he froze and stifled a sob. “Please don’t kill me,” he begged, eyes fixated on the handcuffs, not wanting to see Ian approach with the knife. “I don’t want to die.”   

Ian laughed. It was a grim and at the same time exhilarated sound that made Jackson’s skin crawl. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill you.” He stepped up to the table and dangled a thick leather strap in Jackson’s face. “I’ll just teach you a valuable lesson. Been wanting to do that since you bit me. It’s going to hurt.” He tapped the strap lightly onto the table. “Believe me, I’m good at this.”  


	8. Chapter 8

Jackson stared at the leather and swallowed when he noticed rust-brown specks of dried blood on it. Ian had used the strap before, and used it thoroughly. “Please don’t,” he said and hated the whiny tone in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Not yet, anyway.” Ian smacked the strap onto the table.

Jackson flinched at the popping sound. The wood underneath his elbows vibrated from the force of the hit. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ian raise his arm and take aim. As the leather whistled through the air, he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the impact. The strap landed with a solid crack on the backs of his thighs. He gasped at the cutting heat that spread across his wet skin. _Jesus._

“Never been whipped before, hm?” Ian asked.

No, he hadn’t, and he really hadn’t expected it to hurt that much. The second blow was harder. It hit him above the first, just along the curve of his ass, and left a bright stripe of pain behind. Jackson pressed his lips together. The next three blows landed right across his butt cheeks. The end of the strap curled around his hip, setting his skin on fire. A whimper escaped him and he dropped his forehead onto his cuffed wrists. _I can do this._ He balled his hands into fists and tried to breathe calmly through the strikes, silently counting them off. After the tenth blow, he gulped back a sob. His backside was burning with a furious heat that crawled through his skin and soaked into his flesh.    

“Alright,” Ian said. “Let’s talk some ground rules.”

Jackson lifted his head and searched Ian’s eyes.

Ian met his gaze. “I see I finally have your attention.” He stepped up to the table while lazily swinging the strap back and forth. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for you, and I realize that some initial difficulties are to be expected. You don’t want to be here and that’s fine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” A smile flashed across his face. “I don’t even mind you mouthing off and calling me an asshole. By all means, keep doing that. It’s kind of charming. But I will not tolerate any attacks. No biting, no kicking, no hitting.” He leaned forward and got into Jackson’s face. “Am I making myself clear?”

Jackson forced himself to stay still and keep eye contact with Ian. _Make him believe you._ He nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes, of course! It won’t happen again.” 

“Good. Then let’s make sure you remember that for a good long while.” Ian stepped back and forcefully brought the strap down.

It landed with a resounding crack across Jackson’s thighs and reawakened the fiery burn, made it a thousand times worse. Tears sprung into his eyes and clung to his lashes. The next hit struck the same spot again and he cried out. “Please – I got it! I swear I’ll be good!” 

“Oh, you will be very good when I’m through with you,” Ian said. Then he started to really lay into Jackson, delivering one vicious blow after another, covering every inch of his thighs and backside in rapid succession.

It felt like the leather was shredding his skin and Jackson realized that he wasn’t going to make it through unscathed, not this time. He screamed while trying to squirm away from the slicing pain, twisting from side to side to evade the onslaught, but the handcuffs and the sturdy table kept him firmly in place. He buried his face into his hands in a fruitless attempt to block Ian and the pain out, but that only seemed to make things worse. The air was suddenly thick, making it difficult to breathe. His shrieks were echoing in his ears and white spots started to dance in front of his eyes. His knees felt weak, as if they were unable to carry him any longer, and he kept upright by sheer force of will. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, _please, please, let me pass out already,_ it stopped. He drew in a shaky breath and slowly lifted his head.

In the silence, he heard Ian breathe out heavily. “I think that’s enough for now.” Ian’s voice carried a husky undertone. He laid the strap onto the table next to the cuffs and placed a hand on Jackson’s neck.

Jackson stiffened at the touch. The pain was still running through him in searing waves and his face felt hot and sticky with tears. _Please just leave me alone._

Ian ran his fingers softly through his hair. “You know, I like you, and I really didn’t want to go too hard on you, but you left me no choice.” He massaged Jackson’s scalp. “You understand that, don’t you? Hm?”

Jackson rested his forehead on his fists. “Yes. I’m sorry,” he whispered. _Whatever you want to hear._

“Good.” Ian lightly patted him on the head. “I’ll get us some breakfast.”

Jackson listened to him crossing the room and unlocking the door. When the door slammed shut, the last bit of strength abandoned him. His knees buckled and he slumped down onto the table, the edge of the tabletop digging into his belly. The nauseating pain left him mute, and he wept silently into his cuffed hands. God, he wanted to go home _so bad_. Wanted to bury himself into Dad’s arms and cry like a little child, like he hadn’t done since Mom died, wanted to curl up with Tyler on the couch in the living room and watch a movie, wanted to go down to the lake with Ryan and Brooke. They seemed so far away, like distant memories belonging to another life. If only he hadn’t been so stupid – _No._ He took a shuddering breath and shook his head lightly to clear it. This wasn’t his fault.

Tentatively, he pulled his feet underneath himself to relieve the pressure of the tabletop’s edge on his belly. The movement sent a new wave of pain through his cramped muscles and sore backside and he yelped. His hands unintentionally jerked backwards, trying to cover the aching area and soothe the pain, but the cuffs stopped them short. Jackson scrunched up his face and pressed his lips together while he waited for the agony to subside. His gaze wandered over the red circles on his wrists and then settled onto the strap. Lying there on the table, it looked utterly harmless, giving no notion of the tremendous pain it could inflict. He spotted several fresh blood smears overlapping the old specks and cringed. Judging by that and the raw feeling, he was battered badly. The thought made him sink into a new surge of despair. He whimpered and pressed his clenched fists into his eyes. _Stop it, fucking stop it!_ But he couldn’t. The tears kept on coming, squeezing out between his closed lids and wetting his fingers. When he heard the door unlock, he stifled a hiccoughing sob and glanced over his shoulder.

Ian, carrying a tray, kicked the door shut with his heel. “Stop the blubbering,” he said while he approached the table. “You’re probably hungry. I know I am.” He sat the tray down in front of Jackson. On it were two plates stacked with scrambled eggs and crispy bacon and two cups filled with coffee. Two plastic forks were stuck into the eggs on one plate.

Yeah, he should be hungry, having not really eaten in nearly two days. But he always lost his appetite in stressful situations and this was no different. The smell of the food made his stomach churn. He wouldn’t be able to eat this. Not now. He could feel a tremor work its way into his limbs and glanced at Ian, who seemed oblivious to his distress. He reached for the handcuffs and unlocked them. They fell from Jackson’s wrists with a clatter. Jackson pulled his hands out of reach. Silently, he watched Ian toss the key for the cuffs onto the table and pick up the chair, already guessing where this was leading, yet still hoping that he was wrong.

Ian placed the chair next to him and tapped the backrest. “Sit down,” he said. The corners of his mouth were twitching.

Jackson looked down at the wooden seat of the chair, then up at Ian again. Ian was smirking now, eyes glittering gleefully. He bit into the inside of his cheek and braced himself. Then he sat down gingerly, elbows firmly planted onto the tabletop to support himself. Even so, the pain made him groan and he hunched down over the table.

Ian chortled. He lifted the cups and plates from the tray. “I hope you like your coffee black.” He shoved one cup over to Jackson.

Jackson curled his hands around the plastic and savored the warmth seeping into his trembling fingers. He usually drank his coffee creamy and sweet, but that didn’t matter now. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You’re lying,” Ian said. He sounded amused.

Jackson kept his gaze fixated on the black liquid in his cup. He felt weirdly dizzy. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, no, it’s ok.” Ian sat down and pushed one plate over to him. “I’d give you some milk, but there’s none left. I’ll get you a carton later. I need to run to the store anyway. The fridge’s pretty empty.” He pulled his own plate closer, removed the forks from the eggs and held one out to Jackson.

Jackson awkwardly shifted his weight onto one elbow and grasped the offered fork.

“Bon appétit,” Ian said and dug into his eggs.

Jackson nodded warily and skewered a piece of scrambled egg. His stomach roiled when he steered it towards his mouth and he set it down again. His hand was shaking slightly.

Ian frowned. “Something wrong with the food?”

“I don’t think I can eat this,” Jackson said softly.

Ian looked at him inquiringly. “Are you allergic?”

Jackson shook his head.

“Then I suggest you give it a shot,” Ian said.

Jackson winced at his tone. It didn’t sound like a suggestion. He forced a forkful of egg into his mouth. The food felt like bubble gum between his teeth. He shoved it around with his tongue, getting more desperate by the second and wishing he could just spit it out. By now he felt fairly sick. But Ian kept looking at him intently, so he swallowed it. The egg dropped into his stomach like a stone and he had to fight to keep it down.

Ian nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned his attention back to his own plate.

Jackson let his fork sink in relief.

“Alright,” Ian said between two bites, “tell me something about yourself.”

Jackson blinked. _What?_ He glanced at Ian through his lashes. “Why?”

“Well, we’re going to be living together for a while and I want to get to know you.” Ian took a swig of his coffee. “Usually I research my guests beforehand, but since you were such a lucky surprise, I couldn’t do that. And I brought the wrong bag along, so I can’t even check your driver’s license.” He chuckled, as if it was a funny joke.

Jackson returned his gaze to his plate. _Living together for a while._ He could feel tears gather in the corners of his eyes. His vision started to blur, turning the eggs into one big yellow lump. Across the table, he heard Ian chomp a stripe of bacon.  

“So, how old are you, hm? Sixteen? Seventeen?”

Jackson swallowed his tears down. “Eighteen,” he said. Just turned eighteen last week. It seemed like a long time ago.

“You’re actually legal?” Ian laughed out loud. “That’s brilliant. I really do know how to pick them.”

Jackson pressed his lips together. As if his age made any difference.

“Nice, ok. So, what do you like?” Ian looked at him expectantly.

Jackson picked at his eggs. “I’d like to go home.”

Ian pointed his fork at him. “Stop right there. You’re not going home. Tell me something else. You’re into sports, right? I picked you up at the hall – are you on the swim team?”

“No.” Jackson carefully arranged the stripes of bacon on one side of the plate. Competitive swimming was Tyler’s thing. Jackson liked it well enough, but he preferred to splash around in the lake. He played soccer for the school team, mainly because he liked to run. If there was a track team, he’d be on it.  

“So what is it? Football?”

Jackson shook his head. He should just tell Ian, because really, what did it matter? But he couldn’t bear the thought of yet another invasion of his privacy.  

“Not really in a sharing mood, are you?” Ian said. “Alright, we’ll talk about you later. It’s not like we’re in any hurry. Is there anything you want to know about me? I’m sure you’re curious.”

Jackson frowned at his plate. There were things he wanted to know. Not so much about Ian though, more about what was going to happen once Ian got tired of him. So far he’d successfully pushed those thoughts away, but that tactic didn’t seem to work any longer. He didn’t doubt that Ian would eventually move on, otherwise he’d still be amusing himself with the first unlucky boy that caught his fancy instead of hunting for new ones. And there had been other boys before him. Ian had alluded to them often enough and he’d just seen the evidence with his own eyes – the old blood on the strap. There was no way Ian would let him go. He’d not only seen Ian, but also the van and the house; he could easily identify him to the police. The guy that had picked Casey up had said something about auctions and maybe having a buyer for him. He’d probably be sold to someone else. That, or Ian would just kill him. His chest suddenly felt tight. He exhaled and had trouble breathing in again. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled.

Ian snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s your own fault.”

Jackson dropped his fork and rested his forehead on his hands. _Breathe._ His head was swimming. _Sold or killed._ The table seemed to sway under his elbows. He fastened his eyes on the coffee cup in an attempt to ground himself, but it didn’t work. The room started to spin and he felt himself tipping sideways. Ian’s hands were suddenly on his wrists. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he heard Ian say before he passed out.

He came to again to a gush of cold water. He was lying in the shower tub, head propped up against the wall.

Ian was crouching next to him and kept him in place with one hand to the chest. With the other hand, he held the shower head into Jackson’s face. “Hello there,” he said and turned the shower head to the side.

Jackson groaned. He still felt nauseous. His ass and the backs of his thighs stung harshly in the cold water. At least the room had stopped spinning.

“Going to pass out again?” Ian asked.

He shook his head. The movement set his stomach into motion. He rolled onto his side and threw up. It was mainly water and bile, since he hadn’t really eaten anything, but he still couldn’t stop. He kept puking until he was just dry heaving, stomach empty. He groaned again.

Ian sighed, then pointed the shower head at the pool of vomit and washed it down the drain. “Are you done?”

Jackson heaved himself up onto one elbow and rubbed a hand over his face. When his stomach didn’t revolt again, he nodded. “I think so.” He felt goosebumps rise on his skin. “I’m cold,” he said. There was a tremor in his voice.

“I bet.” Ian turned the water off. “Get up.” He gripped Jackson by the arm and pulled him onto his feet.

Jackson steadied himself with a hand to the wall. His head felt fuzzy, as if it was filled with cotton wool. He was shaking.

Ian filled a cup with water and handed it to him. “Here, take a sip.”

Jackson obeyed. By now he was quaking so bad that he had trouble holding the cup steady. It clattered against his teeth. “I think I need a doctor,” he said.

Ian huffed. “You just need a nap. Come on.” He took the cup and steered Jackson out of the bathroom and towards the bed, hand firmly wrapped around his upper arm.

Jackson leaned into his grip, grateful for the support. His knees felt weak. He climbed into the bed and flopped down onto his belly. His teeth were chattering. God, he was so cold. He fumbled for the bedspread.

Ian threw it over him. “Whatever’s going through that cute head of yours – stop thinking about it. You’ll just make yourself sick again.”

The fabric felt like sandpaper on his raw skin and he winced while at the same time welcoming the warmth around his shoulders. _Sold or killed._ “I can’t,” he said miserably.

Ian exhaled slowly. “I’ll get you a bucket. Don’t mess up the bed.” He went into the bathroom.

Jackson buried deeper into the bedspread. Maybe Ian was right. Maybe he did need some sleep. If only he could get those ugly thoughts out of his head. But they kept running through his brain in an endless loop. _Sold or killed._ He’d never get out and he’d never see his family and friends again. _No. Just – no._ He had to, somehow. Dad always said he was a resourceful kid. He didn’t feel very resourceful right now, but maybe he could be after a little rest. He looked up when he heard Ian come back.

“Here.” Ian placed a yellow bucket onto the floor. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and had a light jacket hanging over his arm. “I’m going to the store. I’d ask you if you want anything, but I guess that’d be pointless.” He stroked Jackson’s hair. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll warm you up when I get back.”

Jackson closed his eyes. But really, what else did he expect? He listened to Ian crossing the room and unlocking the door, then to the fading footsteps outside until he was surrounded by silence. Shortly after, he heard the faint sound of an engine being revved through the open window and then the van driving off.

He rested his forehead on his folded arms and breathed slowly in and out. _I’m getting out._ Not today, but he would. Warmth gradually built up underneath the bedspread and seeped into his limbs. Still, it took him a long while to get the trembling under control. By the time he finally succeeded, his backside and thighs were stinging fiercely in the heat. He rolled over onto his side and shoved the bedspread off his lower body, only keeping it slung loosely around his shoulders. He felt exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, he lay awake and ran the morning’s events through his head.

The memory of the strap crashing into his backside and the cutting pain made him cringe, but at least it kept his mind off other, much more damaging thoughts. He reached back and cautiously ran a hand over his ass. The skin was hot and tacky to the touch. He craned his neck to get a look. What little he could see didn’t satisfy the sudden urge to know. Wincing, he crawled towards the edge of the mattress and slid off the bed. He left the bedspread on the bed and hobbled into the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, he turned around and looked over his shoulder. The sight made him grimace. Ian had really worked him over good. His ass and thighs were fiery red and covered in massive dark bruises. The bruises were intermitted by thick welts and uneven open cuts where the strap had twisted and landed edge on. The entire area was caked in dried blood that had seeped out of the cuts. He curled his hands into fists. _That fucking asshole._ He wet a towel and gingerly started to clean the dried blood off the unbroken skin. Even the light touch hurt and he quickly gave up and chucked the towel into the washbowl. This wasn’t worth it.

He limped back into the bedroom, intending to get back into bed until his eyes caught onto his plate on the table. He stood there indecisively for a while and wondered if he should eat instead, now that the nausea was gone. Going without food would only make him weak. If he wanted to find a way out, he’d need all the strength he could get. Determined, he wobbled over to the table and took his fork. He had to force the first bites down his throat until it got easier. While he ate standing, he stared at the bloody smudges on the chair seat, already bracing himself for the next time Ian would make him sit down. He cleared his plate and placed it onto the tray. Then he downed the cup of cold coffee for good measure. Awful. He wrinkled his nose. There really wasn’t anything else he could do, so he crawled back into the bed, not bothering to avoid the bloody spots, and settled onto his belly. With his stomach full, he was starting to feel a little drowsy. He closed his eyes and dozed off.

The sound of footsteps woke him up again. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head.

Ian was standing next to the table and surveyed the empty plate. “Feeling better, hm?” He hung his jacket over the back of a chair, came over to the bed and pushed Jackson onto his side before kissing him on the mouth. His tongue demanded instant entry.

Jackson let his head fall back against the mattress and relaxed his lips, let Ian have his way. It didn’t even bother him all that much, which freaked him out a little.

Ian pulled back and smiled. “I bought you some milk,” he said.

Jackson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Fucking milk._ As if black coffee was his biggest problem. “Thanks,” he said instead.

The smile on Ian’s face widened. “So you do have some manners after all. Good.” He unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops. “Roll over,” he said.

Jackson froze. “Please don’t hit me again.”

“Pfft, calm down.” Ian popped the button of his jeans. “I have something else in mind.” He reached for the zipper.

That really shouldn’t put him at ease, but it kind of did. Jackson figured he could deal with getting fucked, and wasn’t that a scary thought. He felt a lump form in his throat. Oh God, he was getting used to this. He startled when a sudden ringtone interrupted the silence. A phone. There was a phone in here?

Ian groaned and let his head fall back. “Really, now?” He went to the table and reached into his jacket.

Jackson watched in disbelief as he pulled out a cell phone and took the call. There was someone on the other end of the line, someone who could call the police and get him out of here. His pulse skyrocketed at the thought. “Help,” he screamed. “Call 911! I’ve been kidnapped! Help!” The words died on his tongue when Ian rolled his eyes and lowered the phone.

“You” – he pointed his finger at Jackson – “shut up.” He lifted the phone back up to his ear. “Brody, you there? Yeah, I got a new kid. He’s still homesick.” He listened, then laughed. “No, no, he’s pretty sweet actually. He just needs some time to adjust. We’ll get there, hm, Jackson?” He winked.

Jackson swallowed. There was no help on the line. It was another person who trafficked kids. Another person who wouldn’t lift a finger for him, who wouldn’t blink at him getting raped, tortured or killed.

Ian laughed again. “Yeah, exactly,” he said. “Alright, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call? Do we have a new job?” His face darkened while he listened. “Say that again,” he said tonelessly. After another pause, he cursed. “That stupid fucking idiot!” He turned around and slammed a hand onto the tabletop. Then he started to pace through the room, seemingly getting more pissed with every word he bellowed into the phone.

Jackson watched him with rising apprehension. Whatever the news were, they weren’t good, and if Ian blew a fuse, he’d bear the brunt of it.

“No, no, forget it,” Ian said. “We’re not going after him again. It was a failure, end of story. Ask the client to pick another kid and we’ll get it for free.” He listened again. “Yeah, I’ll take the van over to your place. Give me” – he looked at his watch – “three hours. Have another car ready. Alright. See you later then.” He ended the call and tapped the phone against his chin before he chucked it onto the table. It slid over the surface and fell to the floor with a clatter. “God fucking dammit,” he swore. Then he looked at Jackson and came for the bed.

Jackson recoiled. “I’m sorry,” he squawked and skittered backwards on his ass, ignoring the burn the sheets induced on his sore backside.

Ian lunged for him, caught his ankle and yanked him down to the edge of the mattress before he backhanded him hard across the face. “Stay still!” he hissed.

Jackson dropped onto his back and nodded hastily. He watched Ian rip open his zipper and shove his jeans halfway down his thighs. His cock was already hard.

He roughly pushed Jackson’s legs apart and stepped between them. Then he bent over Jackson, placed one hand on the mattress next to his shoulder and guided his cock towards his ass. His eyes were fixed intently on Jackson’s face.

Jackson blinked uneasily. It was bad enough when he couldn’t see Ian, but having to actually look into his face while getting fucked… He bit into his bottom lip when Ian’s cock bumped against his bruised ass. Then Ian found his target and forced the head of his cock inside and _oh God_ , he’d been so wrong earlier – he couldn’t deal with this after all. _Shit, it hurt._ He whimpered. Why wasn’t this ever getting any better? He inched upwards on the bed, trying to get away just a little, just enough to relieve some pressure but not make Ian too mad.

“Stop it,” Ian snapped and brutally shoved the rest of the way in.

The force of the thrust drove Jackson further up the mattress. The metal teeth of the zipper scraped across his backside and dug into his raw flesh. He hissed at the sharp sting and then whined when Ian settled into a rapid pace. It felt even worse in this position and he brought his hands up and pushed against Ian’s chest. “Stop, please.” Ian did stop, but only to take a hold of his wrists and press them into the mattress on either side of his head. Then he leaned onto them and resumed his pace.

Jackson felt his wrist bones grind in his grip. He made a halfhearted attempt to free his hands, but it was futile in this spread-eagled position and with Ian’s weight holding him down. He clenched his teeth and glanced up into Ian’s face, determined to ride this out. _I can do this._ It’d be over soon enough. Ian met his gaze with a calculating look. He pulled out almost entirely and pushed back in with a cruel twist of his hips. Jackson yelped and squeezed his eyes shut. _I can totally do this._ He listened to Ian’s breath and the sound of his balls slapping against his ass in an attempt to block out the pain. A particularly hard thrust made him wince. Ian moaned and snapped his hips faster, increasing the pace. After a few stuttering thrusts, he shoved in deep and settled down on top of Jackson, moving his hips ever so slightly as he rode out his orgasm. His panting breath fanned over Jackson’s face. Then he lifted himself up onto his hands again and raised his hips. Jackson grimaced at the burn his withdrawing cock left behind.

Ian climbed off him and pulled up his jeans. “You look adorable when you scrunch up your face like that, you know that?”

Jackson pressed his lips together. _Adorable. Fuck you._ But the intense ache in his backside kept him from saying so. He watched Ian pick up the phone and go into the bathroom. When he heard the tap run, he shuffled away from the edge of the mattress and curled up on his side. He didn’t bother checking for blood. The traces he’d seen on Ian’s cock and the wet feeling between his ass cheeks told him everything he needed to know. Still, he felt weirdly triumphant. It was over and once again, he’d made it through just fine.


	9. Chapter 9

He looked up when Ian came back out of the bathroom.

“I have to go.” Ian ran his wet hands through his hair, took the jacket off the chair and slung it over his shoulder. With the other hand, he picked up the tray with the dishes. “Don’t wait up for me. It’s going to be late. Maybe even tomorrow.” He hesitated at the door. “Want me to leave you some food?”

Jackson stared at him, feeling breathless and a little dazed about this sudden turn of events. He’d gathered from the phone conversation that Ian was taking the van someplace else, but not that he’d be gone for that long. Tonight or tomorrow – that left him with a lot of time to thoroughly scan the room and maybe find a way out. His heart started to race at the thought.

“Hey!” Ian snapped his fingers. “Food or not?”

Jackson shook himself out of his stupor. He guessed it was around lunchtime now. He wanted Ian gone right now, wanted to have the room for himself and get started. But the day was still long and he’d need all the help and energy he could get to stay alert. Food was a good start. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

It didn’t take Ian long to return with the tray. He slipped it onto the table and looked at Jackson expectantly.

Jackson spotted two sandwiches and an apple. “Thank you,” he said, hoping that’d send Ian on his way.  

Instead, Ian’s lips curled into a smile and he came over to the bed.

Jackson forced himself not to flinch. _Just a little longer, then he’ll be gone._ Without being told to, he rolled over onto his back and slightly lifted his head, giving Ian access to his mouth.

“Nice,” Ian said. He pushed Jackson’s head back down into the mattress, shoved his tongue into his mouth and kissed him roughly.

Jackson kept his lips slack while he looked up into his face. _Fucker._

Ian pulled back and met his gaze. The corners of his mouth were twitching. “Still hate me, hm? We’ll have to work on that.” He licked over Jackson’s bottom lip, then softly bit into it.

It wasn’t bad, but Jackson suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. He narrowed his eyes in disgust and jerked his head away.

Ian laughed. “Very charming.” His gaze swept past Jackson and he frowned.

Jackson held his breath. _What now?_

“These sheets are a mess,” Ian said.

Jackson followed his look. The cream-colored sheets had been clean when he’d arrived. Now they were filthy, streaked with his blood and Ian’s come. And he was lying right in the middle of this grime. Gross. He wrinkled his nose. The ringing of the phone yanked his thoughts away from the sheets. His gaze slipped to Ian’s pocket and fixated on the outline of the phone underneath the fabric. So close and yet beyond reach.

Ian looked at his watch and groaned. “I’m late. There’s fresh bedclothes under the bed. Be a good boy and change the sheets while I’m gone.” He pressed a quick kiss to Jackson’s forehead. “Have a nice day,” he said. On his way to the door, he pulled the phone out of his pocket. “Yeah?” he said. “I know, I’m on my way.” The door slammed behind him.

Jackson waited until his footsteps had faded. Then he slid off the bed with a grimace and limped over to the window. He pressed his forehead against the iron bars and listened patiently until he heard the van’s engine start. He stayed there until the sound of the van had disappeared entirely. Finally alone for a few hours. He suddenly felt a tingling sensation in his belly. _Please let this work out._ He rubbed his face while he tried to get a grip on his nerves. _Calm down._ Another breakdown would get him nowhere. He shook his head and straightened his shoulders, then looked around the room, unsure where to start his search for a way out. He felt a little woozy and it took him a while to realize that a specific starting point didn’t matter. He just needed to get a move on and not leave anything out of consideration.

He turned back to the window, took a hold of the iron bars and shook them. Still solidly bolted into the wall, just as they had been yesterday. He touched the thick bolt heads that held the bars and tried to move them with his fingers, to no avail. There was no way to loosen them without a wrench. He checked the bars on the other window. Same. Then he went into the bathroom and looked up to the tiny window over the bathtub. He might be able to squeeze through if the bars were loose enough to rip out of the wall. He didn’t expect that to be the case, but he had to at least try. He lifted a foot onto the rim of the bathtub, intending to just swing himself up, but the pain in his backside and thighs stopped him short. He groaned and closed his eyes while he waited for the agony to subside. With clenched teeth, he then climbed up, opened the window and gave the bars a jolt. There was no movement underneath his hands. Disappointed, he closed the window again and slowly climbed back down.

Next, he inspected the door. The leaf was solid metal. No way was he getting through that. He turned to the lock. The key pads still gave no indication which numbers the code consisted of, and with the sound turned off, he didn’t have any clue how many digits there even were. He figured he could still just try every possible combination from five digits upwards. Ian surely hadn’t downgraded after changing the four-digit code. He started with 11111 on the lock in the bedroom. After he pressed 11113, the lock beeped shrilly once and then made a clicking sound. Shut down after three wrong combinations. Ian had tightened the security measures. _Shit._ Jackson smashed his fist into the keypad. Then he tried the lock in the bathroom, with the same result. He felt tears of frustration tickle at the back of his eyes and furiously blinked them away as he walked back into the bedroom.

His eyes fell onto the yellow bucket Ian had left next to the bed. The bucket itself was made of plastic, but the handle was metal. Maybe he could wedge it between the door and the frame and jiggle the lock. He removed the handle from the bucket and inspected the slit between door leaf and frame. It was tiny and way too narrow to fit. He tried to jam the handle into the small gap anyway. Nope. He exhaled loudly. As expected, the windows and doors were a bust. What other way could there possibly be out of these rooms? He let his gaze sweep over the floor. The tiles of the bathroom were no option. Maybe the wooden floor in the bedroom? He lowered himself onto his knees and crawled through the bedroom, picking at every wooden board first with his fingers and then with the bucket handle to see if anything was loose. No luck.

The bruised muscles in his thighs protested when he tried to get up again and he spent a while hunched over one of the chairs until he managed to find his footing. His eyes were burning and he felt a slight headache work its way into his temples. He should probably take a break and eat and drink something. He downed a cup of water first, then slowly ate a sandwich while he let his gaze wander through the room. Deep inside, he knew that he’d already exhausted his options, but he wasn’t yet ready to face that fact. He dropped the half eaten sandwich back onto the tray and started over, desperately hoping he’d missed something on his first round. Of course he hadn’t, and after two more cycles, reality caught up with him and he finally admitted it to himself – he was stuck. There really was no way out. Ian had made sure of that.

The adrenaline left him in such a rush that he had to hold on to the back of a chair to keep from slumping over. It took him a couple of minutes to gather enough strength to hobble over to the bed. Without looking at the dirty sheets, he flopped down onto his belly. He felt like crying, but even that suddenly seemed too strenuous. Instead, he closed his eyes and, within seconds, he slipped into sleep.

It was night when he woke up again. His bladder was begging for release, but he stayed completely still and listened into the darkness. Through the open window, he heard the rain drops still pattering softly onto the grass and the bushes. The room itself lay in silence. Aside from his own shallow breathing, there was no human sound. Ian hadn’t come back yet. He exhaled and rolled onto his side to get out of bed. The movement sent a wave of pain through his body and he groaned. With clenched his teeth, he inched over the edge of the mattress and fumbled his way into the bathroom. He still felt exhausted and after relieving himself, he crawled into the bed again and fell back asleep.

The next time he came to, it was broad daylight. The rain had stopped sometime during then night and now the sun was shining through the window and onto the pillow. Jackson blinked into the warm light and yawned. Despite the dull pain in his backside and thighs, he felt a bit better. Not exactly recuperated and certainly not well enough to face another day with Ian, but at least a little rested. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder. The other side of the bed was empty. He propped himself up onto one elbow and listened. The house was silent. Ian was still out. He let himself sink back into the pillows and studied the white ceiling while he wondered what he should do now. He couldn’t get out of here on his own, that much was clear. To keep trying would just drive him crazy. The only thing he really could do was wait and hope that Ian would one day make a mistake. _One day._ It sounded like an infinite amount of time. But when that one day arrived, he’d be ready.  

Conscious of his sore muscles, he slowly climbed out of the bed and went to the table. The sandwiches had gotten crumbly and dry during the night, but he polished them off nonetheless. While he ate the apple, he studied the leather strap that still lay across the table. His blood had dried and was now indistinguishable from the old spots that marked it. _That fucking thing._ Ian had left it there, either to have it handy or as a reminder for him. Jackson didn’t like either option. He swallowed the last bite down, then took the strap and carried it over to the open window. Despite telling himself that this was a stupid idea, he dangled the strap through the bars, aimed at a nearby bush and let go. The strap twisted in the air and missed the bush by a foot. His heart set out for a second, then resumed its pace when he realized that it was still nearly invisible in the high grass. Unless Ian went looking for it in the backyard, he wouldn’t see it. He’d probably look for it elsewhere, though, and get pissed when it wasn’t there. Jackson felt his pulse beat in his throat at the thought. But it was too late now.

He turned around and surveyed the dirty sheets. Better get those changed before Ian got back. As Ian had said, there were a couple of sets of fresh bedclothes in a box under the bed. Changing the sheets and bedspread took him a while. His sore muscles kept protesting the movements and he felt the scabbed-over cuts on his backside crack whenever he bent over. He had to stop several times to take a breath. When he finally finished, he dumped the soiled bedclothes into the unused bathtub in the corner.  

Afterwards, he took a shower. The hot water felt good on his bruised skin. He let the spray fall onto his shoulders while he watched the water puddle in the shower tub turn reddish from the dried blood, then run clear again. So far, so good. He stayed under the spray until it ran cold. Ian still wasn’t back, so he wrapped himself into a towel, brushed his teeth and combed his hands through his wet hair.

Then he wandered back into the bedroom, where he stood indecisively and stared at the bed. What now? There was nothing in this room to keep him busy. No Ian, no books, no TV. Nothing. His mind skipped to home, and immediately he felt desperation rise. His vision blurred. He shook his head to clear it. The towel was prickly on his sore skin and distracted him long enough to get a grip on himself. Thinking about home was not an option, full stop. He threw the towel over the back of a chair and slipped back into bed. The sun had wandered around and its rays crossed the foot of the bed now. He let himself sink into the pillows and wiggled his toes in the warm light. He wasn’t really tired anymore, just weary, but it didn’t take long until sleep claimed him yet again.

When he woke up, dusk was falling. It only took him a second to realize that he was alone. Ian still wasn’t back. He blinked, torn between relief and a nagging feeling of worry. Ian had left over a day ago and given no notice of staying out that long. He rolled over onto his other side and closed his eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep and leave everything behind once more. But after having slept the better part of the last twenty-four hours, he was wide awake now. He stared at the door until it was swallowed by darkness and he could only make out a vague outline.

The nagging feeling of worry increased, and slowly but surely he worked himself into a fit of anxiety. Where the hell was Ian? Why wasn’t he back yet? Had something happened to him? Jackson felt goosebumps rise on his skin at the thought. He climbed out of bed, went over to the window and looked out into the darkness in an attempt to soothe himself. It didn’t work. Nobody beside Ian knew where he was. What if the police had arrested him? Worse, what if he’d died in a car crash? If Ian didn’t come back, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be found until it was too late. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, then started to pace through the room. No, that wouldn’t happen. Ian would come back. He had to. Please. He faltered in his steps when he realized what exactly he was wishing for. _Oh God._ He was going insane. He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. No, he wasn’t losing his mind. Ian was just the lesser of the two evils, which was a crazy thought of its own. He wandered into the bathroom and then back into the bedroom again, keeping himself busy until he felt a little calmer. Then he settled onto the bed, but he was too agitated to stay there, and it wasn’t long before he resumed his pacing.

Hours later, when dawn was breaking, he was dead tired again. His bruised backside and thighs were burning. He went into the bathroom and spritzed some cold water into his face. His stomach growled. To drown out the hunger, he downed two cups of water. Afterwards, he stood at the open window in the bedroom and stared into the backyard. He felt lightly sick with worry. The warm sunshine on his head made him drowsy, and eventually he let himself sink onto the bed. It didn’t matter what he did anyway; whether he looked out the window or curled up on the bed, he didn’t have any influence on what was going to happen. If he slept, he at least didn’t have to think about anything. It was a welcome escape from this new life. He closed his eyes, but despite his tiredness, he was too shaken to sleep. He rolled around restlessly for a couple of hours until he finally gave up. With a groan, he got up again and went into the bathroom. He took a leak and then a shower, deliberately cold this time, before retaking his place at the window. He was starting to feel a little numb, which suited him just fine. He was tired of being in stuck in a perpetually anxious state. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and watched the sun wander over the horizon. It was oddly soothing and after a while, he had trouble keeping his eyes open. He crawled into bed and dozed off.

The sound of a car door slamming shut snapped him awake. He sat up and cocked his head towards the window. Nothing. Before he could make up his mind if he was maybe just imagining things, the front door fell into the lock. He wasn’t hallucinating. Ian was back. Jackson shivered and pulled the bedspread over his shoulders. Suddenly, Ian didn’t seem like the lesser evil anymore. His heart started to race when he heard footsteps and Ian’s muffled voice through the door.

Then the door swung open and Ian stepped inside, a wide smile on his face. “Hello there,” he said and walked straight towards the bed. “Did you miss me?”

Jackson stared at him. He looked fine, if a little tired. No injuries and he didn’t seem stressed either. He hadn’t been in a car crash or in police custody. On the contrary – he’d probably stayed away on purpose and let Jackson fret and stew. He felt anger rise at the thought. _That asshole. That fucking asshole._ When Ian reached for him, he dodged his hand. “Leave me the fuck alone,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Thought you said he was a sweet kid,” someone said. The voice was tinged with amusement.  

Jackson froze. His mouth dropped open. _What the hell…?_

Ian laughed. “Yeah, well, he has his bitchy moments,” he said over his shoulder and reached out again.

This time, Jackson didn’t duck away. He let Ian take a hold of his elbow and drag him to the edge of the mattress. The bedspread slid off his shoulders, but he paid it no notice. He was busy staring past Ian at the man leaning against the doorframe.

The guy was almost Ian’s height, just about an inch shorter. He was wearing olive-green cargo pants and a white t-shirt. The way he was carrying himself, he seemed thoroughly fit. His short sleeves stretched around muscular, tattooed arms. His dark blond hair fell messily into his forehead. Jackson guessed him to be in his mid-thirties.

The man straightened up and came over to the bed. He wiped the bedspread fully aside with his hand and let his eyes roam over Jackson’s body. “He’s very cute, I’ll give you that,” he said. “Nice physique. Looks a little rough though.” He reached out and touched the bruise on Jackson’s cheekbone.

Ian followed his look and grinned. “He was asking for it,” he said.

“Aren’t they all in the beginning?” The man ran his fingers over Jackson’s bottom lip.

Jackson flinched away from the touch and glanced up at Ian’s face. “Please don’t sell me,” he blurted out. _Holy shit_ , he was actually pleading to stay with Ian. Maybe he was insane after all. But at least he knew Ian a little by now and he was starting to learn how to navigate around his tics. _Oh God, please,_ he couldn’t start over again. Better the devil you know.

The man laughed. “Oh my, he is lovely,” he said.

“Told you so,” Ian replied and placed a hand on Jackson’s neck. “Don’t worry, Jackson. I’m not going to sell you.” He softly rubbed his thumb back and forth. The movement made Jackson’s skin crawl. “Brody’s a friend of mine. He’s going to stay with us for a few days. You’ll like him.”

Jackson couldn’t suppress a shudder. He was already outmatched by Ian. With this other man here too, he didn’t stand a chance. And what were they going to do to him? He felt a lump form in his throat and fresh tears tickle at the corners of his eyes. To stave them off, he pressed his knuckles into his eye sockets. 

“Aw, don’t be scared, honey,” Brody said. “We’ll take good care of you.”

The words did nothing to put Jackson at ease. Quite the opposite. He suddenly felt slightly sick.

Ian groaned. “Are you freaking out again?” he asked, sounding irritated.

Jackson couldn’t answer, too busy reining himself in. He focused on breathing evenly. _Calm down right now._ He took a stuttering breath.

“Hey,” Ian said and gave him a shove. “I asked you something.”

Jackson shook his head. _No, not freaking out. Definitely not._ His stomach jumped and he pressed a hand over his mouth.

Brody quickly picked up the bucket. “Going to throw up?” he asked.

Jackson fixated the yellow plastic while he waited for his stomach to settle. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.” He would be. He had to.

“What” – Ian reached for the bucket with his free hand – “happened to the handle?” He tightened his fingers on Jackson’s neck and shook him. “What did you do with it?”

Jackson cringed under the harsh grip. “It’s on the table,” he squeaked. “I tried to open the door.”

“Did you, hm?” Ian loosened his grip a little and looked over to the door. 

Brody laughed and clapped Ian on the shoulder. “Cute and inventive. You really know how to pick them.” He stretched his arms over his head. “Do you have any food in the house? I’m pretty hungry.” As if to emphasize this statement, his stomach growled.

Jackson held his breath. _Yes, please leave._

“I could do with a steak.” Ian placed a hand on Jackson’s head. ”Want to leave him for dessert?”

Despite having expected something like this, Jackson couldn’t hide a wince. They were going to eat and then they’d make use of him. He didn’t like the way it sounded, but that was exactly what was going to happen. He briefly wondered what it’d feel like to be fucked twice in a row; to be violated by Ian and have another man – Brody – shove in right after, without a breather. Then he shut that line of thought down. He’d deal with it when it was happening.

Brody chuckled. “Steak and a tasty dessert? Yep, sounds good.” 

“Alright.” Ian ran his fingers through Jackson’s hair. “You must be hungry, too. I didn’t leave you much food.” He took a hold of Jackson’s elbow. “Come on. You can watch TV until dinner is ready.”

Jackson let himself get pulled onto his feet. “You’re taking me downstairs?” he asked. A jolt of adrenaline went through him at the thought. He hadn’t gotten a good look when Ian had carried him in, but he didn’t think he’d seen a code lock on the front door. If he was fast –

“I know that face of yours,” Ian said. His fingers tightened on Jackson’s arm. “Let me tell you this: the windows are all barred and the doors are locked. You’re not getting out, so don’t do anything stupid.” He pulled Jackson closer and looked him straight in the eyes. “I guarantee you that you’ll regret it.”

The words washed over Jackson like a cold shower. Once again, Ian was a step ahead of him. He swallowed and nodded slowly. _Got it._ Today wasn’t going to be that one day. But at least he’d get to go downstairs and for once see something else than the bedroom. And he’d get a chance to memorize the place. 

“Good. Then let’s go.” Ian steered him through the door and down the shadowy gallery.

Brody followed them. “Whoa,” he said when Jackson stepped into the sunlight that shone through the window at the top of the stairs.

Jackson turned his head and saw him pointing at his backside. He felt color rising in his cheeks and immediately chided himself for being stupid. He’d been thoroughly checked out on the bed and soon, there’d be no place left on his body that Brody hadn’t touched. He’d been through this with Ian already. This was no different.

“Why would you do that?” Brody asked and ran a hand over the bruised skin. “Why would you ruin such a lovely ass?”

Jackson forced himself to hold still. The touch hurt, but the pain had been such a constant companion in the last couple of days that he’d gotten somewhat used to it.

Ian snorted. “Don’t be so melodramatic. He needed some boundaries set. It’ll heal just fine.” He pushed Jackson down the first step and tilted his head to the side, taking another look. “I guess I may have gotten a bit carried away. But he was screaming just so delightfully. Weren’t you, hm?” He pressed a quick kiss onto Jackson’s head.

Jackson didn’t answer. He only had a vague recollection of screaming, but he distinctly remembered the searing pain of the strap slamming into him over and over again, tearing up his skin until he’d wished for unconsciousness. The sole memory made him dizzy and he put a hand on the rail to steady himself. Ian gave him a shove and he slowly continued down the stairs, focusing on the soft carpet underneath his bare feet. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he felt steady again and he took a look around.

Just as Ian had said, the windows were barred. The front door was across the room, and while there was no code lock, he didn’t doubt that it was locked right now. The kitchen area was on the right side of the room. It featured a cooking island with an elevated counter and chairs on one side. To his left was the brown leather sofa he’d briefly caught sight of while hanging upside down over Ian’s shoulder. It was flanked by two matching leather armchairs. A coffee table stood in front of it. The TV hung on the far wall facing the sofa. Even further to the left was an unused fireplace. Jackson spotted an iron poker next to it. If he could get his hands on that –

Ian yanked him around before he could finish his thought. “What did I just tell you?” he asked.

Jackson felt his pulse shoot up. “I was just looking around. I’m sorry. Please?”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t push your luck.” Ian shoved him over to the sofa.

“I’m starting to see the need for your drastic disciplinary measures. That kid has the memory of a goldfish,” Brody said from the kitchen area, head stuck inside the fridge.

Jackson narrowed his eyes. _Fucker._

Ian threw a blanket over the seat of the sofa and pointed to it. “Sit down.” When Jackson obeyed, he reached underneath the sofa and produced a chain with a shackle at the end. “Put your foot on the table.”

Jackson studied the chain. The thought of being locked to the sofa wasn’t very appealing. Not that he’d be able to evade Ian without being fettered, but for some unexplainable reason he felt it’d make him even more vulnerable. He looked up at Ian, who motioned towards the table. Reluctantly, he lifted his right foot up and watched Ian close the shackle around his ankle. It was tight, but not uncomfortably so, just enough that he wouldn’t be able to slip his foot through.

“Alright.” Ian turned the TV on and chucked the remote onto the sofa next to Jackson before walking over to the kitchen.

Jackson watched him leave the key to the shackle on the counter. Tentatively he took a hold of the chain and pulled to see how much room to move it left him. After about six or seven feet he reached the end. It was long enough for him to sit comfortably anywhere on the couch and maybe even in the armchairs, but way too short to reach the fireplace with its pokers or the kitchen counter. He dropped the chain and turned around, taking in the rest of the house. There wasn’t much to see, just a wall and three doors that led into the backrooms. One of the doors stood halfway open and he spotted a duffel bag and the edge of a bed. It was obviously a guest room and hopefully where Brody would sleep. He really didn’t want to share a bed with him, too. The door next to the guest room probably led into a bathroom. As for the third, he had no idea. Possibly where the washing machine was kept and most likely leading to the back door. Not that it mattered much; he couldn’t get there anyway.

He turned back around and glanced at the TV, where a documentary about pyramids was playing, before looking over to the kitchen. Ian was holding up a frozen chicken. “Sorry, steaks are out. Chicken ok?” When Brody agreeably shrugged, he closed the freezer door with his elbow and dumped the chicken onto the cooking island. Jackson watched him chop up a bunch of vegetables, put everything into a large cast iron pan and shove it into the oven. Brody was leaning against the counter, a can of beer in one hand and animatedly gesticulating with the other. They were talking about ice hockey.

It was such a _normal_ scene – two friends cooking, drinking beer and talking sports – that Jackson couldn’t help but stare. Normal except for him, chained naked to the sofa at their free disposal. But they didn’t seem to find that unusual either. It was bizarre. Slowly, the smell of well-flavored chicken started to fill the air and his stomach grumbled. Despite everything, he was hungry as hell.

Brody turned around. “Are you lonely over there? Want me to keep you company?”

_Oh God, no._ Jackson hastily looked away and busied himself with the remote, zapping through the channels and pretending to watch TV, but it was too late.

Brody was already on his way over. He dropped down onto the sofa next to Jackson and slung his arm around his shoulders. “Beer?” he asked and offered Jackson his can.

Jackson shook his head and ducked out from under his arm. “Thanks. I’m fine.” He inched towards the opposite armrest, out of Brody’s reach.

“Oh, come on.” Brody set the beer onto the coffee table and followed him until Jackson was wedged between his body and the armrest. “You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked and ran his fingers softy over Jackson’s thigh.

Jackson stiffened. No, he didn’t like Brody at all, but he couldn’t well say that. Could he? He glanced over at Ian, intending to get his permission, then caught himself. _Permission? What the hell was wrong with him?_ He forced his eyes back to the TV screen. “No, I don’t,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ah, see, I knew it.” Brody leaned even closer and slid his hand upward until it was resting on Jackson’s cock. “Is there anything I can do to change that?” He slowly closed his fingers.

Jackson roughly shoved his hand aside. “Don’t,” he said, cheeks hot.

“You sure?” Brody renewed his grip and softly rubbed his thumb back and forth. “I can make it good for you.”

“Stop it!” Jackson wrenched his knee up and dislodged Brody’s hand. When Brody kept on coming, he twisted to the side and let himself drop off the sofa onto the floor. “Fucking stop it already!”

Brody laughed. “Oh honey, you need to relax,” he said. “I’m just playing with you.” He held out a hand to Jackson and patted the seat of the sofa with the other. “Come up again.”

Jackson breathed out heavily through his nose. A shiver ran down his back. “Fuck off,” he said faintly. 

Brody shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took a swig of his beer and motioned towards the TV. “You want to see this?”

Jackson glanced at the screen. He’d dropped the remote when Brody had crowded him against the armrest and now the TV was stuck on a news channel. The newsman was talking about a drug bust. “I don’t care.”

Brody looked around. “Where’s the remote?”

It was lying under the coffee table, but Jackson wasn’t in the mood to do Brody a favor. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have it.”

Brody sighed. “Then I guess we’re watching the news.” He slouched into the cushions and crossed his legs.

Jackson watched him settle down, then decided to stay on the floor. It was far from comfortable, but at least it gave him a little distance. He leaned his back against the sofa and stared at the TV. The newsman had moved on to illegal street racing. It was a long segment and Jackson let himself get immersed in the colorful cars and the spectacle surrounding the race. He startled when Ian chucked a kitchen timer onto the coffee table.

Brody craned his neck to get a look at the timer. “How much longer is it?”

“Should be ready in about an hour,” Ian said.

Brody groaned. “Seriously? I’m starving.”

Ian ignored him. He sat down on the sofa right next to where Jackson was sitting on the floor and swung one leg over his head, bracketing him in between his knees. Then he leaned forward and ran his fingers over the side of Jackson’s neck.

Jackson held his breath and sure enough, the fingers were soon replaced by Ian’s mouth. He pulled up his shoulders in discomfort at the stubble scratching over his skin, then winced when he felt Ian’s teeth. “Please don’t,” he said and tried to twist away. In response, Ian closed his knees, effectively pinning him in place, bent his head back and sucked on his collarbone. Jackson closed his eyes in anticipation of a painful bite, but Ian seemed to be in a gracious mood.

After just a few tender nibbles, he lifted his head and smiled down at Jackson. “Since we have an hour to waste until dinner, I guess you’ll be the appetizer instead of the dessert.” He opened his legs suggestively.

“Or both,” Brody said.

Jackson crushed the urge to crawl away. He’d known that it’d come to this. Whether it happened now or later wouldn’t make a difference, and needlessly prolonging the whole ordeal wouldn’t turn it into a better experience either. So he didn’t resist when Brody grabbed his arm, dragged him onto the couch and pushed him onto his back. He smelled the beer on Brody’s breath. Then his lips were hard on Jackson’s mouth and his tongue shoved inside. The bitter taste of the beer made him turn his head away, but Brody caught his chin and forced him back to the center. One of his legs slipped between Jackson’s and he started to rub his still clothed crotch against Jackson’s hip. Jackson hesitated for a second, then he deliberately lifted his body towards Brody, providing him with more friction. If Brody shot his load now, he hopefully wouldn’t be able to get it up again too soon. Maybe he could gift himself with a little reprieve. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ian step out of his pants and jack his cock to hardness. There’d be no denying him. His attention snapped back to Brody when the man stilled and raised his hips, dick still hard.

“Nice try,” Brody said and patted his cheek. “We’ll see if you’re that accommodating when I’m fucking you.” With that, he climbed off Jackson to take off his pants, making way for Ian in the process.

_Crap._ He looked up at Ian, trying to read his face.

Ian met his gaze. “You’ve never been very accommodating with me,” he said, grabbed Jackson’s left ankle and lifted his foot onto the backrest of the sofa before sliding between his legs. “And please don’t ever change that.” He slipped his hand under Jackson’s ass and yanked him closer before roughly pushing the head of his cock inside.

Jackson bit into his bottom lip at the sharp burn and whined when Ian shoved the rest of the way in. _Shit_ , he’d never get used to this. It still felt as horrible as it had the first time. He dug his fingers into the cushions when Ian settled into his usual brutal rhythm. The force of the thrusts bunched up the blanket underneath him and shoved him forward until his head knocked into the armrest. He groaned and tried to brace himself with his hands above his head, but he was no match for the momentum Ian carried. It only took three more thrusts, then his shoulder was squashed against the armrest with his head bent awkwardly to the side. He arched his back, intending to slide up and over the armrest with the next stroke, but it didn’t come.

Instead, Ian paused and took in his crouched position. “Dammit,” he said serenely. Then he slipped one arm under Jackson’s shoulders, sat up in one fluid motion and settled against the backrest.

Jackson came to sit astride his lap. Ian’s cock had slipped halfway out on the way up, but his own weight now drove him down onto it. He hissed and steadied himself with his hands on Ian’s chest. Ian didn’t give him any time to adjust to the new angle. He jerked his hips up and shoved in deep in one long thrust, and _oh God_ , it was just too fast, too much, too painful. He cried out and tried to scramble off Ian’s lap.

“Nu uh.” Ian stopped him short by looping an arm around his neck and pulling him close, rendering him nearly immobile in a headlock. His other hand was pressed into the small of Jackson’s back. “You stay right there,” he said with his lips against Jackson’s temple. His hips kept moving relentlessly, driving up into Jackson in quick hard strokes.

Jackson kept up his pointless resistance for another couple of thrusts, then he gave in. He slumped against Ian’s chest and squeezed his eyes shut. _I can do this. I totally can._ At least he’d been pretty confident that he could just ten minutes ago. Now, he wasn’t so sure and he couldn’t even figure out why. Yeah, it hurt, but he’d had worse already. Maybe he was starting to crack. His mind seemed to be all over the place lately. He pressed a hand against his forehead in an attempt to sort out his jumbled thoughts, but got interrupted by Ian speeding up his thrusts until his movements turned erratic. The stabbing pain made him whimper. _Please, make it stop._ And by some miracle, Ian actually stilled and groaned after driving in one last time.

He turned his head to the side and kissed Jackson on the mouth. “You did good,” he said against Jackson’s lips. Then he took his arm from Jackson’s neck and lifted him slightly until his softening cock slipped free.

Jackson’s breath hitched in relief. He straightened himself, intending to climb off Ian’s lap, when he heard Brody step closer. It wasn’t over yet. 


	10. Chapter 10

Brody put his hands on Jackson’s shoulders, leaned in and licked across the back of his neck, then softly sucked the skin into his mouth.

Jackson couldn’t suppress a shudder. He tipped forward against Ian’s chest again before he could catch himself, shaking Brody’s mouth and hands off in the process. “Please don’t let him,” he said. Behind him, he heard Brody burst into laughter. The sound washed over his skin and made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Ian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then his mouth curled into a smile and he loosely wrapped a hand around the back of Jackson’s neck. “Isn’t he delightful?” he asked Brody before he tugged Jackson closer and caught his lips in a kiss.

Jackson opened his mouth and let him in, freaked out by his own words. Christ, he really was going crazy. Ian had obviously brought Brody here to spice up the whole deal. Asking him for sanctuary and even worse, to some extent expecting it, was just insane. His thoughts were confirmed when Ian pulled back and looked at him.

“You are so very delectable,” Ian whispered. His eyes were glittering in an almost enraptured way. He reached out and ran a finger over Jackson’s lips.

Jackson felt a surge of nausea twist his stomach. He braced his palms against the backrest of the sofa and tried to push off Ian’s lap, but Ian’s hand, still curled around the back of his neck, tightened and stopped him short. Unable to look at Ian for just a second longer, he turned his head to the right and fixed his gaze onto his own hand. His fingers were trembling and as much as he tried to, he couldn’t get them to stop. Not as long as Ian was staring at him like that. He took a shallow breath and startled when Brody’s hands fluttered down his back and settled on his hips.

Brody leaned in until his chest was pressed against Jackson’s back and hooked his chin over Jackson’s shoulder. “You’re creeping him out,” he said to Ian.

Ian grinned. “I know,” he said and let his hands drop. “Your turn.”

Brody turned his head and pressed a wet kiss onto Jackson’s neck before stepping back. “Come on, honey.” He wrapped an arm around Jackson’s middle and hoisted him off Ian’s lap.

Jackson, caught off guard, steadied himself with a hand on Brody’s forearm as he was spun around and shoved towards the nearest armchair. He tripped over the chain on his ankle and caught himself against the backrest of the armchair. Before he could straighten up again, Brody had a hand on his neck and pushed his head down. Instinctively he resisted the pressure for a couple of seconds before he resigned himself. He felt the fingers on his neck tighten anyway.

“Stay down,” Brody said and ran a hand over his ass, then stepped closer.

Jackson gritted his teeth when Brody’s cock bumped against him. _Here we go._ He dug his fingers into the soft upholstery of the backrest in an attempt to brace himself, but it wasn’t enough to withstand what felt like rough-grained sandpaper being forced into him, and he cried out and struggled weakly while Brody pressed inside. Brody stilled once he was all the way in and Jackson used the brief respite to rub a hand over his wet eyes. _Jesus_ , he really hadn’t expected the second round to be so much worse.

Behind him, Brody groaned. “Please tell me you’ve got lube in the house,” he said to Ian.

Ian laughed. “Isn’t he lubed up enough for your taste?”

“What, with your come? Not even close. I like it slippery.” Brody pulled halfway out and then pushed back in.  

The drag was awful and Jackson gasped, then whimpered as Brody settled into a slow pace.

“There’s a bottle upstairs,” Ian said. “Help yourself. I’ll check the chicken in the meantime.” He pushed to his feet and walked over to the kitchen area.

Jackson watched him bend over and peer through the glass door of the oven.  

Brody brought his attention back by tenderly stroking a finger down his spine. “What do you say, honey?” He draped himself over Jackson’s back and nudged his cheek with his nose. “Want me to get it? It’s your choice.” He took Jackson’s earlobe into his mouth and started to suck on it. His hips continued to work in shallow strokes.

Jackson squeezed his eyes shut. Yes, he wanted the lube, anything to make this easier, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Saying so would make him feel like he was actively taking part in this, almost like he was giving consent, and as stupid as that thought was, he knew that it would mess with him if he gave in. So he kept his mouth shut and bit back a sob when the next thrust burned through him. _Please finish up already._  

Brody let go of his earlobe and wrapped his arms around him. “Come on, I know you want it,” he whispered into his ear. One of his hands traveled downwards over Jackson’s belly and hovered over his cock. “Just say it and I’ll make this really good for you.” He carefully closed his fingers.

Jackson stared down at Brody’s hand in stunned silence, watched it move slowly back and forth until he started to respond. _Oh God._

“Knew you’d like that,” Brody murmured as he carefully sped up his hand movements.

Jackson watched, frozen in horror. His cheeks felt hot, flushed with shame and unwelcome arousal. _No, just no. This is not happening._ But it was happening – his own body was betraying him and he was seemingly unable to stop it. He kept staring helplessly until the stir of a familiar sensation in his lower belly finally tore him out of his stupor. _Hell, no!_ He jerked his head to the side. “Go fuck yourself!” he spat, voice laced with so much venom that it took him by surprise. The bout of anger felt good and he slapped Brody’s hand away with more force than necessary. The loss of contact was a relief. He felt his arousal die down abruptly.  

Over by the counter, Ian chuckled. “Looks like you need to work on your sexy talk,” he said.

“Oh, shut up,” Brody retorted affably. He grabbed a handful of Jackson’s hair and bent his head back until they were face to face.

Jackson swallowed with difficulty. His heart was racing, now with fear instead of shame or anger. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Brody’s eyes and focused his gaze on his chin instead.

“It’s a pity,” Brody said and he managed to sound actually sorry. “I really wanted to turn this into a pleasant experience for both of us.” He kissed Jackson onto the nose. “Now neither of us will be able to fully enjoy it.” He let go of Jackson’s hair and placed his hands on either side of him onto the backrest before pulling out and then driving back in with so much force that Jackson was propelled forward against the armchair.

Pain ripped through him and he yelled and tried to wriggle free. He barely managed to gain an inch of freedom before Brody nailed him down again with an elbow to the neck. “Please stop,” he begged, face pressed uncomfortably against the upholstery. The next thrust made him squeak.

“I know it hurts,” Brody said, not missing a beat. He removed his elbow from Jackson’s neck and took a hold of the backrest again while gaining momentum. “Just hang in there, ok?”

Jackson bit into the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming, strong enough that his teeth drew blood. He tasted the iron on his tongue. “Please, I can’t!” He felt weirdly raw. _I can’t do this anymore._

“You asked for this, remember?” Brody said. “I gave you a choice.”

And God, Jackson wanted to scream in frustration. “I didn’t ask for any of this!” he snapped.

“Oh honey, you keep telling yourself that,” Brody said sweetly.  

Jackson curled his hands into fists and punched feebly into the backrest. Behind him, Brody was breathing heavily as he steered towards his orgasm. Jackson felt him shudder and then go still. He closed his eyes and exhaled soundlessly. _Finally._ Shoulders rigid, he waited for Brody to pull out. 

But instead of withdrawing, Brody snuggled up against his back and stroked his head. “I know you’re upset and that’s ok. But it’ll get better, I promise. You’ll see. Blake was a little slow on the uptake, too, and he’s really enjoying himself now.”

It was difficult to breathe around the sudden giant lump in his throat because he knew, just knew that Blake, whoever he was, had met a similar fate as he and done the smart thing and given in. Maybe he should, too, if he could bring himself to. He dug his knuckles into his eyes.

“Hey, stop it with the sweet talk,” Ian called over. “I don’t want him to enjoy himself.”

Brody snorted. “Yeah, I know.” He stepped back and hissed when his soft dick slipped free. “Ouch. You’re way too dry.”

Jackson bit back a whimper at the burning sensation. He tentatively shifted his weight from one foot to the other before he straightened himself. The bolt of pain that flashed through his backside made him wince. As enticing as coming downstairs had been earlier, now he craved the soft bed upstairs. He wished he could crawl in, curl up on his side and pull the bedspread over his head, block out Ian, Brody and the past four days – five days? He frowned as he tried to put the events of the last days into some sort of order, but the painful memories just kept blending together into one big clump until he gave up. Great, not even a week and he was already losing track of time. With a grimace, he turned around and hobbled towards the sofa.

Brody stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. “Where are you going?”

Jackson peered at him warily and waved his hand in the direction of the sofa.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Brody motioned towards his cock.

Jackson glanced down at it in alarm, fearing Brody had, by some miracle, already gotten hard again and was gearing up for another go. But that wasn’t the case. Brody’s dick was still soft, shiny with come and a little blood; less blood than he’d expected, actually. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He shifted uneasily. “Forgetting what?”

“To clean up your mess, of course,” Brody said.

Jackson blinked. “You – you want me to wash your dick?” he asked perplexed.

“Wash it?” Brody laughed and shook his head. “No.” He leaned forward. “I want you to lick it clean.”

Jackson inadvertently recoiled. _Lick it clean?_ Though it would cost him, he could probably deal with the come and the blood, but considering where Brody’s cock had been, there was bound to be some other stuff on it as well – _no, just no_. “Sorry, what?” he asked, hoping against hope that he’d misinterpreted Brody’s request.

Brody looked at him openly, lips twitching in amusement. “You heard me. Now get to work.”

“No.” Jackson took a step backwards.

Brody pointed to the kitchen area. “You want some of that dinner, don’t you?”  

Jackson looked over. Ian had taken the chicken out of the oven and was now dividing it up. His stomach growled at the sight.

Brody nodded. “I thought so. It’s pretty easy – no clean up, no food.”

Jackson swallowed. After the days without food, he felt starved. Yeah, he wanted that chicken _badly._ His eyes flickered to Brody’s face, then down to his dick again. He took a deep breath. “I’m not hungry,” he said tonelessly.  

“I see,” Brody said. “It’s really unfortunate that you’re so recalcitrant. Things would be much easier if you were just a little bit cooperative.” He studied Jackson with an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “No dinner for you then. You’ll still have to do the job though.”

“What?” Jackson felt his heart drop. “But you said – no!” He stumbled backwards when Brody reached for him. “Leave me alone!”

Brody followed him. “Don’t make this any harder on yourself,” he said calmly. “Come on.” He reached out again. When Jackson kept dodging his hand, he stepped onto the chain.

Jackson lost his footing mid-step and went down hard between the sofa and the coffee table, missing the edge of the table just by inches. He managed to scramble halfway onto his knees before Brody got on top of him and pushed him back down. Jackson tried to twist away but between sofa and coffee table, there was nowhere to go. Brody settled onto his chest and pinned his arms to the floor with his knees, rendering him immobile. Jackson glanced at his cock, dangerously close to his mouth now, then met Brody’s eyes. “I won’t do it,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster up.

“We’ll see,” Brody said and inched forward until his dick came to rest on Jackson’s bottom lip.

Jackson felt slightly sick. He turned his head to the side and wheezed. “You can’t –“ he started, then broke off. _You can’t make me_ , he’d wanted to say, and wasn’t that stupid. He’d been made to do all kinds of stuff in the last days.

Brody grabbed his chin and forced his head back up. “Open up,” he said and when Jackson didn’t obey, he clamped his nose shut with his thumb and index finger.

Jackson stared at Brody, feeling dumbfounded, when really, he should have expected something like this. Instinctively he tried to breathe in and felt dull pressure build in his ears when air was denied. _Shit._ In an attempt to shake Brody’s hand off he twisted his head from side to side, but it got him nowhere. His lungs were starting to burn but he couldn’t bring himself to give in, not when Brody’s dick, which had just been _inside his ass,_ was waiting to slip into his mouth. He kept fighting the need to breathe until he was getting lightheaded. Then his body took over and opened his mouth for him, greedily sucking fresh air into his lungs. Brody’s cock slipped against his tongue and he tasted blood, come and something he didn’t even want to think about, and he felt his stomach lurch into his throat. He heaved up bile and the water he’d been drinking to quench his hunger, coughing wildly when the fluid ran back into his throat, suddenly convinced that he’d suffocate on his own vomit right here on the floor.

“Great, now he’s going to puke all over the living room,” Ian said. “Let him up.”

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Brody grumbled, but he let go of Jackson’s nose and got up after giving him a pat on the cheek.

Jackson rolled over onto his side and spat out the rest of the water, then wiped the back of his hand over his tongue in an attempt to obliterate the revolting taste. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ian stepping closer. He hadn’t noticed him coming over earlier, too occupied with Brody. His stomach was settling again, but he kept panting into the floor anyway. Anything to keep Brody away. He felt something soft hit the back of his head and looked up just in time to see a roll of kitchen paper bounce against the sofa.

“Mop up when you’re done,” Ian said. “And then get off the floor.” 

Jackson ripped a couple of sheets off the roll and sponged his watery vomit up. His hands were shaking. When Brody bent over him to reach for the roll of paper, he startled.

“Chill out,” Brody said. “We’ll finish up another time.” He wiped his cock clean with a paper towel, then plucked the dirty sheets out of Jackson’s hand and went over to the kitchen counter.

Mindful of the pain in his backside, Jackson slowly got up and settled onto the sofa. Sitting proved to be too uncomfortable, so he leaned sideways against the armrest and pulled his feet underneath himself. His stomach, having recovered from its uproar, gurgled loudly when Brody came back over with a plate of delicious smelling food. He pressed a hand to his belly to stifle the noise as he watched Brody sit down in an armchair and take a hearty bite out of a drumstick.

“Mhm, tastes good,” Brody said around his mouthful.

Jackson bit into his tongue, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He knew he’d failed even before he saw Brody’s mouth break into a wide grin. Exasperated by himself, he looked over to Ian, who was walking towards him with another plate. “Can I go back upstairs?” he asked. “Please?”

“No,” Ian said. “You’ll eat down here with us.” He handed Jackson the plate he’d been carrying and held up a metal fork just out of his reach. “Do I have to remind you not to do anything stupid?”

Jackson stared at the plate, floored by this turn of events. “Yeah.” He shook his head “No. I mean –“

Brody cut him off mid-sentence. “Aw, come on, man. You really shouldn’t reward his behavior by feeding him.”

Jackson curled his fingers around the rim of the plate, knuckles white and shoulders tense, and held his breath.

Ian let his gaze slide over Jackson’s body. “I like the way he looks right now,” he said. “He’ll get too skinny if I starve him out.”

“He’ll be easier to control when he’s weaker,” Brody said.

His nonchalant tone made Jackson cringe.

Ian smiled. “I think I’ve got him under control just fine.” He offered the fork to Jackson.

Jackson carefully took it with one hand. “Thank you,” he said and, for once, he actually was grateful.

“You’re a good kid,” Ian said and ran a hand through Jackson’s hair before heading back to the counter to pick up his own plate and two fresh cans of beer.

Brody laughed. “Careful there or he’ll have you wrapped around his finger in no time.”

Ian dropped onto the sofa next to Jackson, put his feet onto the coffee table and crossed them at the ankles. “You know me better than that,” he said and held out a can to Brody.

“I do,” Brody said with a wide grin and clinked his can against Ian’s.

Jackson cautiously watched them through his lashes. When they paid him no further notice, he turned towards his plate and surveyed its contents – minced chicken, potatoes, carrots, onions and a thick gravy. It tasted as good as it smelled and once he’d taken a bite he was unable to restrict himself. He wolfed the food down and then scraped the plate clean with his fork. His belly, unaccustomed to that much food after days of nothing, felt almost uncomfortably full. Slowly, he put the empty plate and the fork onto the coffee table and reached for the blanket. Ian shot him a sideways glance and he half expected to have the blanket ripped from his hands, but Ian didn’t make any move to stop him and so he pulled it over his shoulders and snuggled up against the armrest.

After clearing up the plates, Ian and Brody spread a map across the coffee table and started to discuss the budget for their next job and possible escape routes. Jackson pretended to watch TV, but he couldn’t help but listen in horrified fascination. When their conversation turned to strategies to lure their target to a secluded area and into their vehicle, he swallowed, reminded once again just how easily he’d let himself get played. And just like that, he couldn’t bear to listen anymore. He fixated his gaze absentmindedly on the TV screen and let their chatter wash over him without taking anything in. His backside was still feeling terribly raw and he gently shifted around until he found a more comfortable position. He suppressed a yawn. What little rest he’d gotten while Ian was away had already vanished. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and closed his eyes. He’d intended to just rest them for a moment, but instead he dozed off.

The feeling of being watched snapped him awake. He kept his body slack as he opened his eyelids just a fraction and stole a peek through his lashes. It was dark outside. Someone had turned on the ceiling lamp. Brody was standing on the other side of the coffee table. He had one foot set onto the tabletop and was leaning forward, one elbow propped onto his knee. Ian was still sitting on the other end of the sofa, one arm slung loosely over the backrest, body now turned towards Jackson. Both were looking at him thoughtfully and Jackson felt an unpleasant tingle work its way down his spine.

“He reminds me a little of Brent, I think,” Brody said.

_Brent._ Another name without a face; another person who had passed through Ian and Brody’s hands. Where was he now? Jackson suppressed a shiver.  

“Mhm, me too,” Ian said.

“Is that why you took him?” Brody asked.

“I guess,” Ian said. “At first he was just an investment, but once I saw him up close and talked to him – eh, you know.”

“Yeah,” Brody said. “You’re going to keep him then?”

The question was followed by a stretch of silence and Jackson held his breath, heart beating rapidly, feeling like his life was hanging in the balance. Then Ian said “Yeah, definitely,” with a weird fondness in his voice and Jackson was suddenly reeling from both relief and deep dread. He tightened his hold on the blanket and pulled it closer around his body, unable to feign sleep any longer.

Ian chuckled. “Hello there,” he said and skidded closer until he was leaning over Jackson’s knees. “You’ve been listening, haven’t you?” He moved in for a kiss.

Jackson turned his head to the side. “Go away,” he said and buried deeper into the sofa, but there was only so much give.  

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Ian said and yanked the blanket away. Then he shoved Jackson onto his back, kneed his legs apart and slid between them.

Jackson felt his hard cock glide down his thigh and then slip firmly against his ass as Ian’s body settled down, trapping him with his weight. “Please, I can’t,” he said. His voice was wavering and he hated himself for it. Ian wormed his hand between their bodies and palmed his ass before he roughly shoved two fingers inside and twisted them. It felt like sandpaper all over again and Jackson gritted his teeth as he tried to arch away from the intrusion.

Ian watched him squirm with an enamored expression on his face. “I think you can just fine,” he said. He pulled his fingers out and guided his cock inside.

“Think there’s room for both of us?” Brody asked when he was halfway in.

Ian stilled abruptly, grabbed his cock at the base and squeezed. “You asshole,” he groaned. “Couldn’t you have asked a little earlier?”

Brody laughed. “Sorry.” He took his foot off the table and came around. “What do you say?”

Ian let go of his cock and ran his thumb over the stretched skin around Jackson’s hole.

Jackson stared at him blankly. _What the…?_ Then Ian softly pushed against the rim and it dawned on him. “No,” he stammered in stunned disbelief. “No!”

“Should be doable,” Ian said. He sat back on his heels and let his cock slip free. “Let’s take it upstairs.”

“No,” Jackson protested. “You can’t!”

“Honey, you have no idea,” Brody said, lips curled into a smile. He handed Ian the key for the shackle. “I’ll get the lube.”

Jackson watched him head up the stairs. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. When Ian reached for the shackle, he pulled his foot away. “Please don’t do this,” he begged, voice cracking. “It’s not going to fit.”

“Well, we’ll have to make it fit, then,” Ian said levelly.

Jackson recoiled so violently that he lost his balance and would have toppled over the edge of the sofa had Ian not caught him by the arm. For a moment he couldn’t breathe through the sheer terror that spread out in his chest. He stared helplessly at Ian while wheezing for air. Then a tiny noise escaped his throat, not even a whimper really, and the spell was broken. He took a shallow breath and, when that worked, hastily sucked in a few more.

Ian pulled him upright again. “That was kind of a dumb thing to say, hm?” he said and soothingly rubbed Jackson’s arm.

Jackson felt goosebumps rise on his skin, even more so when Ian slid his hand up to his neck and pulled him close. Tears welled up in his eyes and clung to his lashes. “Please don’t hurt me,” he whispered into Ian’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry.” Ian gently caressed his neck. “You’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. Alright?”

Jackson shook his head. No, it wasn’t alright, not even the tiniest bit. But it was everything he had right now, so he clung to the words as if they were a lifeline. He didn’t resist when Ian reached between them, unlocked the shackle and dropped it onto the floor.

“Let’s go,” Ian said. He took a hold of Jackson’s wrist and hauled him to his feet, then steered him toward the staircase.

Jackson stumbled up the steps, guided by Ian’s hand on his elbow. “Please don’t do this,” he said repeatedly until the words just sounded wrong and no longer seemed to have any meaning. When they reached the gallery, he clamped his mouth shut and started to drag his feet instead, getting slower and slower. He paused in the doorframe when he spotted Brody on the bed.

Brody was sitting against the headboard, hard cock curved up against his belly. “What took you so long?” he asked as he picked up the bottle of lube lying next to him and squirted a generous amount onto his dick.

The sight made Jackson sick to his stomach and he mindlessly started to back out onto the gallery again. Ian stopped him with a hand between the shoulder blades and propelled him into the room with a quick shove before closing the door. The sound of the lock clicking shut brought on a new wave of dread and he stumbled and came to a halt. “Please –“ 

“Move it,” Ian said and shoved him towards the bed.

Jackson let himself get pushed down onto it, vision blurry from unshed tears. He flinched when Ian climbed over him and dragged him towards the headboard. The bedspread bunched up underneath his body as he let his limbs get heavy and slack, providing as much resistance as he could. It proved futile. Ian hauled him over the lump of cloth with a grunt and shoved him against Brody’s knees. Then he snatched up the bedspread and discarded it on the floor. Jackson watched it go over the edge of the mattress, wishing he could follow it down.

“How do you want to do this?” Brody asked and tossed the bottle of lube to Ian.

Ian caught it with one hand. “I’ll take him,” he said. “I want to see his face.” He motioned towards Jackson with his head. “You got him?”

“Yeah.” Brody patted his lap. “Come here, honey.”

Jackson slowly inched out of his reach and back down the bed on his knees. “Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“Whoa, stay here.” Brody lunged at him, caught his wrists and tugged him forward again until Jackson was sitting awkwardly across his lap.

Brody’s dick, slippery with cold lube, was resting between his ass cheeks and Jackson fidgeted, trying to lose contact.

Brody stopped him with an arm around his middle while he fumbled for his cock with his other hand. “Let’s get you warmed up,” he said and pushed inside.

Jackson braced himself with his hands on Brody’s shoulders. As expected, it burned, but the terrible dragging feeling of the earlier penetrations was missing. Brody hardly moved, mainly just held him there, and he allowed himself a silent breath of relief as his body was slowly accommodating to the intrusion.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Brody asked and kissed his throat. “You could have had this much earlier if weren’t so goddamn stubborn.” He sucked the skin over Jackson’s collarbone into his mouth and began to work his hips in shallow movements.

Jackson bit into the inside of his cheek. While still painful, for once it was actually somewhat bearable. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ian stack up the pillows against the headboard and settle into them. Then he uncapped the bottle of lube, squeezed a big dollop into his palm and slathered it onto his cock, making a face as he did so. When he was done, he wiped his hand clean on the sheets.  

“Alright,” he said and made a waving motion with one arm. “Hand him over.”

Brody let go of the patch of skin he’d just been sucking on and withdrew his cock. “About time,” he said as he got up onto his knees and manhandled Jackson over onto Ian’s lap. Ian already had one hand on his dick and directed it inside straightaway.

Jackson felt his pulse leap up in his throat. At the same time, a sense of finality settled over him. This was it. There was no way out. All he could do was try to get through in one piece.

He tried to slow down the descent by putting his palms on Ian’s chest and tensing his thighs, but Brody’s hands on his hips were pushing him down resolutely, making any kind of dawdling impossible. The swift intrusion and the accompanying sting made him gasp. Before he could steady himself, Ian had clasped a hand around the back his neck and pulled him against his chest. He came to rest with his forehead pressed against Ian’s shoulder. Underneath him, Ian shifted slightly to make room for Brody. His heart started hammering against his ribs when he felt Brody’s hand on the small of his back, sliding downwards until it was resting between his ass cheeks. The first touch of a finger against his hole made him jump, then whine when it pressed in beside Ian’s cock.

Ian patted his neck lightly. “Easy,” he said.

But it wasn’t easy and Jackson squeezed his eyes shut while he fidgeted around in a pointless attempt to relieve the pressure. The painful strain turned unbearable when Brody abruptly shoved another two fingers in and he cried out. Without thinking, he pushed himself up onto his knees and tried to scramble off Ian’s lap. The jerky movement freed him of both Brody’s fingers and Ian’s cock at once, but it sent a flash of tearing pain through his backside that took his breath away. Before he could collect himself, Ian had tightened his grip around the back of his neck and yanked him down again until his face was squashed into Ian’s shoulder. Jackson twisted his head, stemmed his hands against Ian’s chest and kept struggling.

“Hey now,” Ian said. “Stop it.”

The oddly soothing tone of his voice freaked Jackson out. “Let me go!” he yelled. Deep down he already knew that he was fighting a losing battle, but he was unable to give up, mind frantic with fear. He felt Brody’s forearm on the small of his back and then he was pushed down with such force that his knees gave out. At the same time, Ian took his right wrist in a vise-like grip and wrenched his hand to the side. He lost his balance and fell forward against Ian’s chest. Ian’s fingers slid over his neck, then they were replaced by the crook of his arm. Getting up again proved impossible, no matter how hard he thrashed about. Between Ian’s arm around his neck and Brody’s forearm pressing into the small of his back, he was stuck. He pawed helplessly at the sheets with his free hand while a sob was working its way up his throat.

“There we go.” Brody rubbed his back.

The gesture sent a shiver down Jackson’s spine. “Please let me go,” he begged, voice jittery. “Please.”

“Shush,” Ian said, then turned his head over Jackson’s shoulder. “Lend me a hand?” he asked Brody.

“Yup,” Brody said.

Jackson felt him fumble around for Ian’s cock. A few seconds later it was guided back into him. Once the head was in, Ian jerked his hips upwards until he was fully inside again. The stabbing motions made Jackson whimper.

“Alright,” Ian said. Hand still wrapped tightly around Jackson’s wrist, he twisted his arm onto his back. “Can you take him?”  

Jackson felt Brody’s fingers close around his wrist and press it into the small of his back, taking the place his forearm had rested in. He tried to free his hand, but Brody had an iron grip on him. “Please,” he said. His breath was hitching and he kept tugging, heedless of the pain it caused.

“Settle down, honey,” Brody said. “You’re just gonna hurt yourself.”

Jackson felt him bend over and press a kiss onto his shoulder blade. Brody’s dick brushed against his ass and he cringed and tried to bend away.

Ian petted his head. “Isn’t he cute, the way he struggles?”

“I’d rather he just kept still,” Brody said, mouth close to Jackson’s ear. “You hear? You’re not gonna make a difference anyway.” He ran his hand over Jackson’s ass, bluntly shoved his fingers back inside and wiggled them.

It was too much and Jackson jerked violently. “Stop it!” he screamed. “Please, stop it!” His face, wet with tears, slipped over Ian’s shoulder as he tried to squirm away and he felt Ian’s arm around the back of his neck tense, locking him in even tighter.

“Enough with the foreplay,” Ian said. “Get on with it.”

The words made him sob, even more so when Brody pulled his fingers out and he felt the head of his cock press up against him. “Please don’t do this! Please!” He slapped weakly behind himself with his free hand. His fingers grazed Brody’s hip without having any effect. Instead, the pressure increased and he was starting to feel a little hysterical. “No, please!” _Please don’t let this happen!_ But Brody kept on coming, ruthlessly forcing his cock inside next to Ian’s. As he entered, Jackson felt something tear. The searing pain vibrated through his entire body and swiped all thoughts from his mind. For a dreadful second, he couldn’t breathe. Then his lungs filled with air and he shrieked and twisted against the hands that held him down. Above him, Brody stilled and leaned heavily onto him until he was too exhausted to struggle any longer. He wept into Ian’s shoulder, trembling in pain. _Oh God, somebody please help me._

“How’s it look?” Ian asked.

He felt Brody shift slightly backwards and the small movement sparked a new flash of pain that made him squeak.

“Not too bad,” Brody answered.  

“Then go for it,” Ian said.

_No, please, please,_ Jackson wanted to say, but before he could open his mouth, Brody was leaning over him again and started to thrust. He lost track of the words in the flood of excruciating agony that washed over him. For a moment, the world darkened and slipped sideways and he was sure he was going to pass out. He squeezed his eyes shut, yearning for unconsciousness. Instead, his mind cleared and he was jolted back into the here and now. The steady slapping of skin on skin mixed with his screams and echoed in his ears. He felt Brody’s hand on his hip, yanking him down onto their cocks, and his breath on the back of his head as Brody neared completion. Then Brody shuddered and dropped forward onto his back. The sudden added weight drove him even farther down onto their dicks. At the same time, he felt Ian’s hips start to move, fucking up into him in quick stuttering jabs. He was close, that much Jackson could tell, but the knowledge couldn’t ease the piercing pain. He curled his free hand into a fist, trapping the sheets between his fingers, and held on. When Ian finally stilled, he sniveled quietly.

“Well, that was something,” Brody said into the following silence and released his wrist. “We really need to work on your cooperation, honey.”

Jackson gulped back a sob. His hand was numb and started to prickle when the blood flow returned, but he barely paid it any notice.

Ian snorted. “Yeah, we really don’t. Now get off, you’re crushing me.”

He heard Brody chuckle. Then his weight lifted from Jackson’s back and his dick slipped out with a squelching sound. Ian took his arm from his neck before deliberately jerking his hips once. The sharp pain made Jackson whimper, but he was too drained to even try to evade it. He pressed his hot forehead against Ian’s shoulder and gripped the sheets tighter.  

“Good boy,” Ian said approvingly and combed his fingers through his hair. “Come on now.” He eased his cock out and then shoved Jackson unceremoniously off his lap.

Jackson curled up on his side and buried his face in his hands. _It’s over. It's really over._ He felt the mattress dip as Ian climbed off, then heard him pad into the bathroom. Brody was still hovering over him, though. He could feel his gaze on the back of his neck. He held his breath, waiting for Brody to leave, too. Instead, Brody put a hand on his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. The movement sent a flash of bright pain through his backside and he barely suppressed a cry.

Brody took his face in both hands and wiped the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. “Aren’t you just the sweetest picture of misery I have ever seen,” he said with a smile. “If Ian ever tires of you, I’ll take you in.”

Jackson snuffled while fresh tears welled up in his eyes. “No, please.” He wasn’t even sure what he was begging for. He didn’t want to stay with either of them.

Ian, coming out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth, huffed. “I won’t.” He bent over Jackson and scrubbed the washcloth over his face, then shoved him onto his side and briskly wiped in between his ass cheeks.

The wet fabric burned on his torn skin and Jackson bit into the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. He startled when the washcloth was replaced by Ian’s fingers. _No!_ He whipped his head around and stared at Ian, breath caught in his throat.

Ian rolled his eyes. “No need to be so jumpy,” he said and patted Jackson’s thigh. “I was just checking on you.” He handed the blood-streaked washcloth to Brody and stretched. “I don’t think I can sleep right now. Let’s get some more work done.”

Brody wiped his cock clean. “You up for a cross-country training session?” he asked. “I haven’t had a nightly one since Paul threw his back out.”

Ian’s face lit up. “Great idea,” he said. “I know just the right place. Let’s go.”

Jackson watched them disappear into the bathroom and heard them unlock the door to the adjoining room. He listened to their muffled voices while he clumsily shifted around on the mattress in a fruitless attempt to find a comfortable position. _Oh God, why did it have to hurt so bad?_ He pressed his face into a pillow and groaned.

“Are you okay, honey?” Brody asked from the bathroom door.  

Jackson glanced at him. He was wearing black cargo pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. A pair of black gloves were tucked under his belt. He had one booted foot set against the doorframe and was just strapping a holster to his thigh.

“Course not,” Ian said as he brushed past Brody and came over to the bed. He, too, was dressed completely in black and carried a holster on his thigh. Another one was strapped to his forearm. “You will be, though. It’ll just take some time.” He picked up the bedspread from the floor and tossed it onto the mattress. “In case you get cold while I’m out.” He bent over and kissed Jackson on the forehead. “Get some sleep, hm?”

Jackson couldn’t muster up the energy to ask where they were going. Their outfits were more than odd for cross-country training, but whatever they were really up to, he didn’t want to know. He turned his face back into the pillow and listened to them leaving the room. “See you tomorrow, honey,” he heard Brody call before the lights were turned off and the door fell into the lock. His stomach roiled at the words and he just barely managed to crawl to the edge of the mattress before he started to throw up.  


End file.
